


The Marauders’ Apprentices

by TheLoud



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Marauder Medals 2018
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-05-18 05:17:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14846531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoud/pseuds/TheLoud
Summary: Fred and George Weasley are used to pulling pranks with a hairpin and pocketknife, but in their first year at Hogwarts, they find some extra help locked in a drawer in Filch’s office.These characters are the property of J.K. Rowling.First Place Winner in the Honorary Marauder category in the Shrieking Shack Society’s 2018 Marauder Medals. Thanks to everyone who voted!





	1. Chapter 1

1

  
One of the drawers was labeled “ _Confiscated and Highly Dangerous_ " and it wasn’t even locked, unless you counted a mechanical lock that Fred could easily pick with a hairpin. He opened the drawer.   
  
The contents were disappointing at first glance. There were several tired old fanged frisbees, some dungbombs and fireworks long past their expiration dates, and a worn, folded piece of blank parchment. He picked up the parchment, hoping there might be something interesting written inside it.   
  
As he picked it up, words appeared in a small, cramped handwriting: “Mr. Moony politely requests an introduction to the person picking us up.”   
  
Fred froze. “Never trust anything that can think for itself, if you can’t see where it keeps its brain,” that’s what their father always said. However, their father always said quite a lot of things, such as “You’d better not be planning anything,” and “Get down from there!” and “I absolutely forbid it,” and Fred could see no reason to start following his advice now.   
  
As Fred hesitated, the words faded and were replaced by different words, in a formal, old-fashioned handwriting full of graceful flourishes. “Mr. Padfoot would like to tell Mr. Moony that now is not the time to stand upon ceremony, as we have been stuck in a fucking filing cabinet for Merlin knows how long and Mr. Padfoot at least is going out of his fucking mind with boredom.” There were some extra flourishes of calligraphy on the “fucking”s.   
  
These words quickly faded and were replaced by others in a straightforward, blocky handwriting: “Mr. Prongs would like to apologize for Mr. Padfoot’s language while pointing out that he was not particularly sane to begin with, so he can’t blame this drawer for his madness.”   
  
Fred looked over his shoulder at his twin, who was busy loosening all the screws in Filch’s desk with the screwdriver of his pocketknife. “George, look at this!”   
  
George left Filch’s desk and went to the filing cabinet to look at the parchment, now blank again.   
  
“There are people trapped in this parchment,” said Fred, holding it up to his brother. Their eyes met, and he suddenly dropped it on the floor and they both backed away from it.   
  
“You don’t want to get trapped in a piece of parchment,” said George unnecessarily.   
  
They both inched forward again when small, cramped words appeared. “Mr. Moony wholeheartedly supports the caution of the second gentleman whose voice we heard, and would like to assure him that we are not, technically speaking, people. We are mere impressions of the personalities of the creators of this artifact, much like the portraits that line the walls of Hogwarts. Our creators are still, presumably, roaming free, without a thought for us, their creation, abandoned in a drawer in Filch’s office. There is absolutely no danger of any actual people getting stuck in this parchment.”   
  
“Well, it would say that,” said George.   
  
“But we’re going to nick it anyway, aren’t we?” said Fred.   
  
“Of course,” said George.   
  
Fred picked up the parchment. “We’ll talk more once we’re out of Filch’s office,” he told it.   
  
Words appeared in a sloppy scribble. “Mr. Wormtail thanks our rescuers, and likes the idea of nicking things from Filch’s office. Can you set off any dungbombs on your way out?”   
  
“I like the way you think,” said George.   
  
This called for secrecy, so they headed for the disused closet they’d found on the left hand corridor of the seventh floor. It was cramped and uncomfortable, but the dust proved that no one ever came in there but them, so they knew it was safe.   
  
George said _lumos_ to make his wand glow. Fred took the parchment out. “We can talk now, we’re out of Filch’s office.”   
  
“Mr. Wormtail would like to congratulate you on your accomplishment,” said the sloppy scribble. “Rescuing us is a feat that even our creators didn’t manage, although we don’t actually know if they tried.”   
  
“Mr. Padfoot wishes to know to whom we owe our gratitude?” said the old-fashioned calligraphy, clearly in much better spirits now.   
  
“Mr. Moony is wondering where we are. How did you leave Hogwarts so fast?” said the cramped handwriting.   
  
Fred and George looked at each other. “We’re still at Hogwarts,” said George.   
  
There was no reply to this for a while.   
  
“Last Mr. Wormtail knew, we were in the left hand corridor of the seventh floor, but now we have no idea where we are, which is very disconcerting.”   
  
“We’re just in a closet,” said Fred.   
  
“It’s very dusty,” said George. “We came here for some privacy. No one ever comes here but us.”   
  
There was a long pause after this. Then, in blocky writing, “Mr. Prongs is extremely impressed with your knowledge of Hogwarts topography, as you apparently know something that even we don’t know, and we thought we knew practically everything about the subject.”   
  
“What can a piece of parchment know?” asked Fred.   
  
“Mr. Padfoot recognizes the tone of voice calculated to incite us to brag about our knowledge, a tone which you chose in the hopes that we would reveal valuable information to you. We are increasingly impressed with you, Messrs Fred and George Weasley.” The names were ornamented with particularly beautiful calligraphy.   
  
Fred and George stared at their names. “Why did you ask for an introduction if you already knew who we are?” asked George.   
  
“Mr. Moony would like to say he observes the social niceties,” said the cramped writing, “but the fact of the matter is that Mr. Moony is not a braggart, unlike some occupants of this parchment. Mr. Moony feels no urge to show off our knowledge to any random person who breaks into Filch’s office.”   
  
“Mr. Padfoot does not feel that he revealed any great secret by telling our rescuers their own names,” said the calligraphy. “They were bound to find out eventually.”   
  
“Mr. Wormtail thinks that Mr. Padfoot is missing the point,” said the sloppy writing. “Sure, they knew their own names already, but they didn’t know that we’re charmed to know the names of everyone in the castle until Mr. Padfoot blabbed their names to them, did they?”   
  
These words vanished very quickly. Next, the blocky writing said, “Mr. Prongs feels that that is enough about us. Messrs Weasley, please tell us about yourselves.”   
  
Fred and George looked at each other. How much should they reveal? There was no knowing how dangerous a piece of parchment could be in a school of witchcraft and wizardry.   
  
“We’re brothers,” said Fred.   
  
“Twins,” added George.   
  
“First years.”   
  
“We like playing quidditch.”   
  
“But first-years aren’t allowed to join the house teams.”   
  
“We’ve got ginger hair, and freckles.”   
  
“They can see us, you don’t need to say that.”   
  
“We don’t know if they can.”   
  
“Mr. Padfoot wishes to know what you were doing in Filch’s office.”   
  
“Well, I was breaking into his filing cabinet,” said Fred.   
  
“And I was loosening all the screws in his desk to make it collapse the next time someone leans on it,” said George.   
  
“And you’d better not tell anyone,” said Fred.   
  
“Or we’ll use you to line an owl cage,” added George.   
  
“Mr. Prongs wishes to know what house you were sorted into.”   
  
“Gryffindor,” said the twins simultaneously.   
  
“Our whole family’s Gryffindor,” said Fred proudly.   
  
“Mr. Prongs wonders if you two have heard of some other ginger-haired Gryffindor brothers named Fabian and Gideon Prewett.”   
  
“Those were our mum’s brothers!” said George. “They died in the war though. We never met them.”   
  
There was no response to this for a while. Then, “Mr. Prongs is very sorry to hear this news, but is glad that their nephews seem to be following in their footsteps.”   
  
“We’ve told you plenty,” said Fred. “Now who or what are you?”   
  
“Mr. Moony regretfully informs Messrs Weasley that we are charmed to conceal the identities of our creators, so you won’t get any information from us about who we are. As to what we are, we were created to serve a specific purpose. Then our creators went and got us confiscated by Filch, dooming us to years stuck in a filing cabinet, unable to serve our purpose, which as you can imagine we are rather miffed about. Since you rescued us, we are cautiously optimistic that we can resume serving our purpose, and that you would be able and hopefully willing to rescue us from any filing cabinets in which we may find ourselves imprisoned in the future.”   
  
“So, you don’t like being stuck in filing cabinets,” said George. “That isn’t really much of a distinction. What do you do when you’re not stuck in a filing cabinet? What is your purpose?”   
  
“Mr. Moony is wondering what you would do with the information,” said the cramped writing. “What pastimes currently occupy your hours?”   
  
“How do we know you won’t tell anyone?” said Fred.   
  
“Mr. Padfoot thinks that is a most promising start to a story, and also would like to remind our new friends that we are just a piece of parchment, and therefore completely at your mercy. If you wish to prevent us from telling your secrets, as much as we hate to suggest this, you could simply lock us in a filing cabinet, trunk, or other such prison.”   
  
Fred and George looked at each other. Should they trust the parchment? They couldn’t help but feel a certain affinity to these four fellow dungbomb enthusiasts. Yes, they decided. They would trust them.   
  
So they told the parchment about their pranks. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs were extremely appreciative, and never once said “That seems dangerous,” or “That sounds kind of mean,” or any downer like that.   
  
“Mr. Padfoot is most impressed that you accomplished so much, so young, before even getting to Hogwarts. And what have you done at Hogwarts?”   
  
“Well, we haven’t been here very long,” said Fred.   
  
“And we’ve spent rather a lot of our time here in detention,” complained George.   
  
“We’re trying to figure out the lay of the land,”   
  
“But it’s hard to explore without getting caught by Filch,”   
  
“Or his damned cat,”   
  
“But we are working on it,” finished George.   
  
“Mr. Padfoot, were he asked to summarize what you two just said, would say that you two are up to no good. Would you say that’s a fair assessment?”   
  
Fred and George nodded, then wondered if the parchment could see them, then simultaneously said “Yes.”   
  
“Mr. Prongs wonders if you would solemnly swear it.”   
  
“Do you mean an Unbreakable Vow?” asked Fred, feeling a touch of fear.   
  
“Mr. Moony assures Mr. Fred that we are not asking you to swear any sort of Unbreakable Vow. We are simply asking if you are willing to speak the words, ‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.’ This is not a binding promise, and there will be no punishment, from us at least, should you find yourself doing any good afterwards.”   
  
“That sounds all right, I guess,” said George.   
  
“Mr. Wormtail wonders if you would be willing to say this phrase while tapping this parchment with your wand.”   
  
This was it. Did they dare?   
  
“What will happen when we do that? asked Fred.   
  
“Mr. Padfoot has the feeling that you two would enjoy the surprise, and doesn’t want to spoil it for you.”   
  
“Mr. Moony would like to assure our new friends that the magic activated by this phrase can be deactivated simply with another wand tap and the phrase, ‘Mischief managed.” Feel free to practice these phrases and get comfortable with them before you use them in earnest.”   
  
“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”   
  
“Mischief managed.”   
  
“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”   
  
“Mischief managed.”   
  
“Mr. Moony understands that our new friends may be feeling some trepidation, and is willing to answer your questions.”   
  
“Nah, I like surprises,” said Fred. He tapped the parchment with his wand. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”   
  
Fred and George were disappointed. There were no explosions. No dragons flew out of the parchment, and they weren’t sucked into it to emerge in an alien world. Instead the parchment filled with lines and writing, in what they recognized as Mr. Padfoot’s old-fashioned calligraphy. “Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs   
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers   
are proud to present   
THE MARAUDER'S MAP”   
  
“That’s it?” said Fred. “A map?”   
  
“A map of Hogwarts!” said George. He unfolded it and peered closer, shining his wandlight on it. “And look at all the names! Good Godric, this is what they meant!  Every person in Hogwarts has a moving dot on this map!”   
  
“Where are we?” asked Fred. They looked on the seventh floor, but their closet wasn’t there.   
  
“I guess it’s not perfect,” said George. “But everything else I recognize is here. Look, here’s the Great Hall, and Gryffindor tower, and the Transfiguration Classroom... Here’s Mrs. Norris! And Filch!”   
  
The twins stared at each other as they realized that the dreaded caretaker and his cat could never sneak up on them again. Schemes for pranks started forming automatically in their minds.   



	2. Chapter 2

2  
  
Fred and George exchanged a glance after Charms class, so they went to their office, that is, the disused closet, to discuss Fred’s latest prank idea. George illuminated the closet with his wand while Fred took out the Marauder’s Map to include the Marauders in their discussion.   
  
“So, Marauders,” started Fred. “We’d like your help on a prank.”  
  
“Mr. Wormtail wants to hear your idea, which is undoubtedly brilliant.”  
  
“In Charms today, Professor Flitwick taught us how to change the colors of clothes and things. So I think we should turn the Slytherin students’ robes red and gold.”  
  
“Mr. Padfoot wholeheartedly approves of any plan to prank our natural enemies the Slytherins, and is concerned only that this prank might not inflict enough suffering upon them.”  
  
“We’re only first-years,” apologized George.   
  
“Mr. Prongs approves of this prank, as it should cause the Slytherins embarrassment, which is suffering enough, at least for first-years.”  
  
“Mr. Wormtail must be a seer, since he knew in advance that this prank proposal would be brilliant, and it is.”  
  
“Mr. Moony cannot, in good conscience, endorse a plan to debase Gryffindor colors by enrobing Slytherins in them. Mr. Moony additionally wishes to point out that a prank involving our house colors could incriminate our house. Mr. Moony would rather not help with this plan to turn Slytherin robes red and gold, not when there’s a different spell that could turn them transparent.”  
  
Fred and George stared at the small, cramped writing. “We don’t know that spell,” admitted George. “Or we’d do that in a heartbeat.”  
  
“Mr. Moony recommends that you look in the library for a book called Household Hints for the Homemaking Witch. It contains a spell for making fabric transparent, in the chapter titled Spicing Things Up For Your Wizard. It also has many other useful spells, such as one for preventing leaks in bathrooms, which can be used to waterproof an entire room, which will be necessary should you wish to completely fill a room with water or other liquid at some point in the future for some reason. Surprisingly, this book is not in the restricted section, at least it wasn’t when Mr. Moony’s creator found it. They may have moved it after we checked it out. They’d have to make the entire library restricted to stop us from getting ideas for pranks.”  
  
After a moment of eye contact between the twins, George was sprinting to the library and Fred and the Marauders were working out prank details.   
  
Their original idea was to enchant the benches at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall to charm robes on contact, but the Marauders pointed out that this would catch only a few Slytherins, as the rest would know to avoid the benches after the first had sat down. The benefits of depriving the Slytherins of seating were discussed, but it was agreed that while this was a fine goal, there were better ways to accomplish it, such as (as Mr. Padfoot suggested) vanishing the benches after all the Slytherins had sat down, or (as Mr. Moony suggested) slowly shrinking them (the benches, not the Slytherins) over the course of a meal. This led naturally to a discussion about shrinking the Slytherins rather than the benches, until Mr. Prongs called the meeting back to order to discuss making the robes transparent.  
  
“Mr. Moony suggests putting the transparency charm on a timer. Timing charms can be found in a book called Perfect Punctuality, hopefully still available in the unrestricted section of the library. It is indispensable for timing pranks to coincide with alibis.”  
  
George refused to return to the library so soon after his sprint for the homemaking book, but made a note of the book title.   
  
“Mr. Wormtail thinks that charming Slytherin benches to transfer spells by contact is a great idea, and if we do this right, they won’t suspect the benches, so we can use them again for other spells. The timer could be set to go off some time after the Slytherins have got up from their benches, such as in class, or during a quidditch game, so they don’t suspect the Great Hall benches at all.”  
  
“Mr. Prongs strongly discourages any interference in a quidditch game which might result in the game being forfeited, rather than the Slytherin team unarguably losing.”  
  
“Mr. Prongs is right,” said George firmly.  
  
“No pranking quidditch games in a way that might forfeit the game,” agreed Fred.   
  
“Quidditch practices are another matter,” added George.   
  
“They can’t very well cast a _Finite Incantatem_ while they’re in the air, can they?” said Fred. “They’d risk damaging the flight charms on their brooms.”  
  
“Mr. Padfoot is marveling at your mercy, that you want this spell to be so easily broken by a mere _Finite_ _Incantatem_. Wouldn’t you prefer a more interesting countercharm, such as the victim having to say, ‘Look at my droopy Slytherin butt!’ whilst doing the chicken dance?”  
  
The twins’ brown eyes widened.  
  
“We’re only first-years,” said Fred.   
  
“I just learned how to cast _Lumos_ to make my wand glow,” said George.  
  
“And I can’t even do that yet,” admitted Fred.  
  
“Haven’t you got any ideas for pranks we can do with a hairpin and a pocketknife?” asked George.   
  
“Mr. Padfoot apologizes for our excessive enthusiasm, but we are just so excited to be serving our purpose again that we could just, just, write some damn fancy calligraphy!” And indeed he did, every letter a work of art. The flourishes seemed to almost be wagging their tails. “Our modes of expression are quite limited,” he added unnecessarily.   
  
“Mr. Prongs will endeavor to take your age and inexperience into account, but also doesn’t want to underestimate your abilities. People significantly underestimated the abilities of our creators, which enabled them to get away with quite a lot.”  
  
“Mr. Moony will be happy to tutor you in whatever skills are necessary to achieve your pranking goals.”  
  
“Mr. Wormtail can vouch that Mr. Moony is a excellent tutor.”  
  
“Mr. Moony reminds Mr. Wormtail that as the word ‘excellent’ begins with a vowel, he should have written ‘an excellent,’ not ‘a excellent.’”  
  
“Mr. Wormtail takes back what he wrote about Mr. Moony being a excellent tutor.”  
  
“So, the plan,” said George. He looked in the old homemaking book he’d just checked out of the library. “The spell here doesn’t look all that complicated. _Finite_ _Incantatem_ does work as a countercharm for it, the way it’s presented here at least. If we’re going to be casting it indirectly, charming the benches to transfer the spell to the robes, and also layering a timing charm on it, I think that’s plenty ambitious for our first big Hogwarts prank, don’t you? We’ll have to sneak into the Great Hall at night when it’s unoccupied to layer all these spells, and the map will be very handy for not getting caught. Fred, you can go to the library this time and get that book on timing spells. We’ll learn and practice these spells separately, then work on layering them.”  
  
“If Mr. Moony may make a suggestion, perhaps Mr. George should go to the library again, so that Mr. Fred will be free to practice _Lumos_ , which is a very useful spell, under my guidance.”  
  
The twins locked eyes and agreed to the plan, then realized that this means of communication might not work for the Marauders.   
  
“Right,” said Fred.   
  
Fred couldn’t keep reading the Marauders’ messages without George’s wandlight, so he headed for his dorm to practice there. They had some time before dinner. Fred and George had pushed their beds together to make their own little room inside the first-year dormitory. He pulled the red draperies to enclose this space and followed Mr. Moony’s advice. By the time George returned from the library with Perfect Punctuality, he’d got his wand to glow brightly, and was trying the transparency charm on one of his socks. The sock was looking a bit translucent around the toes and heel, but it had been worn rather thin around there anyway so that probably didn’t signify anything.   
  
They would have kept working through dinner if not for, “Mr. Moony is confident that you will soon master these spells, and offers a friendly reminder that you, unlike us, need to eat.”  
  
“Would you mind terribly if we hide you in a trunk over dinner?” Fred asked. “Or should we keep you in our pockets?”  
  
“Mr. Padfoot recalls that we were in a pocket shortly before we were confiscated by Filch, so the trunk may be safer. We’ve spent a great deal of time in trunks without any ill effects. Please don’t keep us there for very long though.”  
  
“Of course not,” said George.   
  
Fred and George wondered if their friends at the Gryffindor table could hear their brains buzzing.   
  
“Hey, Gred and Forge!” said their new friend Lee Jordan. “You’re late, so I saved you each a potato because I know you like them.” He placed one baked potato, each on its own small plate, in front of each of them, setting them down on the table very carefully, not jostling them. There did not seem to be any other baked potatoes on the table, although there were big serving dishes of mashed potatoes.   
  
“No one else has baked potatoes,” observed George.  
  
“Well, yeah, they were really good, so they went fast,” explained Lee. “I noticed you were late so I saved these for you. Go on, eat them.” Lee was smiling, apparently proud of how thoughtful he was to his friends.   
  
Fred and George looked at each other.   
  
“You know who else really likes baked potatoes?” said Fred.   
  
“Our brother Percy,” said George.   
  
“Did you save one for him?”  
  
“Um, no, sorry,” said Lee.   
  
“Oh Percy!” called the twins in unison.  They picked up their plates of potatoes very carefully and carried them all the way to the other end of the table, towards a beacon of red hair over a pale face. Percy, a third-year, sighed the sigh of the long-suffering older brother. He had plenty of experience at this, having not just four younger siblings to practice on, but two older brothers to learn from. The twins walked past their brother Charlie, a sixth-year, on the way. He looked up with interest when he saw their potato parade. Lee was following them. Most of the Gryffindors were looking on with interest at this point.   
  
“We saved these for you,” said Fred.  
  
“Since we know how much you like them,” added George.   
  
“And there weren’t many.”  
  
“Go on, eat them.” They put them on the table in front of their brother and smiled.   
  
Percy looked from the potatoes to the twins. “You don’t really expect me to—“  
  
“Mum wouldn’t approve of you wasting food you know,” laughed Charlie from the middle of the table, no doubt relieved to have been bypassed.   
  
“You know who else likes potatoes?” said Percy. “My pet rat, Scabbers!” With a look of triumph, he took the fat rat out of his pocket, where he had apparently been sleeping, and dropped him directly onto one of the potatoes. Scabbers instantly turned from his usual yellowish brown to a bright purple. The purple rat wobbled, staggered into the other potato, and instantly turned green.  
  
“Hey!” yelled Charlie. He got up from his bench and stormed down the hall to Percy’s end of the table, wand drawn and blue eyes blazing. Charlie was a stocky, muscular boy, with so many freckles he was almost tan. “ _Finite_ _Incantatem_!” he shouted, pointing his wand at Scabbers, who turned back to his usual yellowish brown. “That is a poor innocent animal, Percy! Your pet! You don’t just go subjecting your pet to our brothers’ pranks. It’s cruel! You had no idea what that prank would be.” Charlie’s righteous fury was even attracting attention from the other tables.   
  
“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? Better a rat than me. That’s the only reason to even keep this stupid rat as a pet,” grumbled Percy as he stuffed the rat back in his pocket. “To check for pranks set by Fred and George. He’s useless otherwise.”  
  
“I’ll tell mum how mean you are to that rat,” threatened Charlie. “He should go to someone who’ll take better care of him.”  
  
Fred and George patted Lee appreciatively on the back as they left Percy and Charlie to it and returned to their end of the table. There wasn’t much time left to eat, so they had to hurry, but they were not averse to talking with their mouths full.   
  
“That’s some quick turnover, Lee,” admired Fred.   
  
“Flitwick just taught a color-change charm today, and boom, colorful rodent tonight,” elaborated George.   
  
“The only hard part was getting the spell to work indirectly, wand to potato to person, instead of just wand to person,” said Lee.   
  
“That seems like a very useful technique with much potential for other applications,” said Fred.  
  
“Would you teach us?” asked George.   
  
“Of course!” said Lee.   
  
Fred and George’s eyes met and they wondered if they should tell Lee about the Marauder’s Map. They were so used to being a pranking duo, it felt odd to include anyone else in their secrets. Not yet, they decided. First they’d establish how good Lee was at keeping secrets by trusting him with some less important ones.   
  
“Come to our office after dinner,” said Fred.   
  
“You have an office?” asked Lee.   
  
“It’s in a secret location,” said George.   
  
“So it’s very, very important that you don’t tell anyone where it is.”  
  
“Can we trust you?”  
  
“Of course,” said the boy who had just served them pranked potatoes.   
  



	3. Chapter 3

3   
  
As Fred led Lee to their office, George hung back, sneaking glances at the Map concealed in his Perfect Punctuality book. The left hand seventh-floor corridor was clear.    
  
An odd thing about their office was that the door was so well-hidden, they never found it on the first try. It always took several tries, walking back and forth along the corridor, before they found it. 

  
“It’s pretty small, really, I hope we’ll all fit,” Fred said. “The important thing is how private it is, of course. No one knows about it but George and me.”   
  
“Is this it?” asked Lee. He opened the door that he’d suddenly noticed in the wall.    
  
It was dark of course. Lee’s hand automatically flicked the light switch on, and a torch on the wall burst into flame.    
  
Fred stared. He hadn’t noticed that the closet had a light switch, nor had he noticed the torch on the wall. A light switch? In Hogwarts? Wasn’t that a muggle thing? George followed them in and stared as well.    
  
“Sweet!” Lee said. “It’s just like I imagined it. Don’t worry about it being too small for the three of us, it looks fine.”   
  
Indeed, it was. Fred and George wondered if there were somehow two closets in the same hall, one bigger than the other. This closet was used to store a few chairs, stacked by the wall. Lee took one off the stack and sat on it. “So, to charm an object to transfer a spell through contact...”   
  
They got to work, and Fred and George soon were as good as Lee at the spell. Then George showed Lee the Perfect Punctuality book (minus the Map, which he’d stashed in his pocket) and they all worked on a spell for delaying the action of a charm. It wasn’t difficult once you got the knack.    
  
Fred and George exchanged glances and agreed. “I think we have all the ingredients,” said Fred.   
  
“For a big prank,” continued George.    
  
“A grand prank,”   
  
“A magnificent prank,”   
  
“A prank which will be recorded in history books as one of the greatest pranks of all time.”   
  
“My entire life has just been preparation for this prank,” said Lee. “Give me details.”   
  
They gave him details.    
  
Lee whistled appreciatively. “This will prank all the Slytherins at once, at least all the ones who eat breakfast. We’ll be famous!”   
  
The twins exchanged a look.    
  
“No we won’t,” they said.    
  
“We are creating art for art’s sake,” said Fred.    
  
“Not for fame.”   
  
“And not for detentions.”   
  
Lee considered this. “All right, I guess.”   
  
Fred and George exchanged another look. That hadn’t sounded like enthusiastic agreement.    
  
“Secrecy is essential,” said Fred.    
  
“The plan,” added George.    
  
“The planners,”   
  
“The resources.”   
  
“The location of our office.”   
  
“Everything.”   
  
“We’re counting on you, Lee.”   
  
“Our entire pranking future for the next seven years depends on your ability to keep secrets.”   
  
“Merlin, I already said all right. So when should the timer go off?”   
  
“Not during a mealtime,” said George. “We don’t want them to suspect the benches.”   
  
“Potions class?” suggested Fred. “Snape’ll throw a fit.”   
  
“True, but I’d rather he not throw it at us,” said George regretfully.    
  
“We’ve got a doubles Transfiguration class with Slytherin on Friday,” suggested Lee. “I bet McGonagall has a sense of humor.”   
  
This was an excellent suggestion. The three pranksters agreed to practice their spells for a few more evenings, then sneak into the Great Hall after curfew Thursday night to charm the benches at the Slytherin table.    
  
After dinner Thursday, they opted not to tire themselves out by practicing spells in their office as they usually did after dinner. Instead, they decided to enjoy the novelty of doing their homework for a change, on the chance that it would give them ideas for more pranks.   
  
Before curfew, Fred and George spoke loudly of their intent to go to the library before leaving the Common Room. The map showed them a little dot labeled Lee Jordan following them shortly afterwards, so they put away the map, then hid behind a suit of armor so they could ambush him.    
  
“I thought we were supposed to be sneaking around,” complained Lee. “It’s almost curfew.”   
  
“You’re the one who shrieked like a banshee, which is quite an overreaction to our friendly greeting,” said Fred.    
  
“I did not.”   
  
“Come on, the coast is clear,” said George, sneaking glances at the Map in the inner pocket of his robes.    
  
The Great Hall was empty, and dark, lit only by the windows and ceiling, which was enchanted to show the sky. The moon was nearly full, so once their eyes adjusted, they actually had plenty of light for their work, which was easy after all their practice.    
  
“We’re done!” said Fred triumphantly.    
  
“All the Slytherins will get quite a surprise tomorrow!” added George.    
  
“Not all the Slytherins,” said Lee, pointing to the Head Table.    
  
All three boys raced up the hall. Lee got there first, and so won the honor of casting spells on Professor Snape’s chair.    
  
After that, it was a simple matter to sneakily check on the Map that the coast was still clear, and head back to Gryffindor tower.    
  
The Common Room was almost, but not quite, empty. “Good evening,” said Charlie as soon as they’d climbed through the portrait hole. He put down the book on dragons he’d been reading.    
  
“Good evening,” said Fred, as he, George, and Lee stared at Charlie. Charlie was a prefect, and thus could be expected to have an opinion about them being out after curfew, but he didn’t seem angry.    
  
“I was wondering,” said Charlie awkwardly. “You three vanish for hours sometimes. You must have some secret hiding place somewhere for planning your pranks, where you know you won’t get caught.”   
  
“Planning pranks?” asked Fred, offended.    
  
“Your accusation wounds us, brother,” wept George, distraught.    
  
“We are mere innocent children!“ added Lee.    
  
Charlie waved these responses aside impatiently. “OK, you don’t do pranks. I’m just saying you must have some secret hiding place for doing your homework and stuff, since you obviously don’t do it here. Where is it? Could you show me?”   
  
Fred and George stared at their older brother. “What part of ‘secret hiding place’ don’t you understand?” asked Fred.    
  
“If we showed you, it wouldn’t be secret,” explained George.    
  
And would really mess up their plan to test Lee’s ability to keep a secret, if multiple people knew it.    
  
“I’m your brother,” pleaded Charlie. “And not as much of a git as Percy. No? Well, at least I tried.” He seemed relieved to have gotten his request over with, even though it was unsuccessful.    
  
“What do you need a secret hiding place for anyway?” asked Fred.    
  
“You’re not planning to give us any competition in the pranking business, are you?” demanded George.    
  
“It’s a secret,” said Charlie, smiling, and he got up from his chair and headed up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory.   
  
“What was that about?” asked Lee, but Fred and George had no explanation, so the three of them just headed to their dorm.    
  
The boys went to bed and pulled the curtains around for privacy. George was about to put the Map in his trunk, when he saw sloppily scribbled words on it. “Mr. Wormtail requests that you carry us tomorrow, so we can hear the results of this prank.”   
  
George showed the message to Fred. “Of course,” said Fred.    
  
They could barely wait to get to Transfiguration class the next day, and had to work very hard to appear calm. It was impossible to concentrate on the lesson. Any minute now. Any moment now—   
  
The classroom was suddenly much emptier of clothing and much fuller of screams. The black robes of the Slytherin students had turned transparent, and the generally pale skin beneath made the room seem much brighter. The Gryffindor students were all laughing riotously, so the three pranksters didn’t stand out at all.    
  
“Silence!” shouted Professor McGonagall, but the screams and laughter were involuntary and unstoppable. “This prank should have a simple solution,” she tried to shout over the din. She pointed her wand at the nearest Slytherin, a girl with platinum blonde hair who was blushing pink all over, and covering her face with her hands. “ _ Finite Incantatem _ !”   
  
The girl’s robes went back to opaque black, but she couldn’t tell with her hands covering her face like that. Her hair also turned from platinum blonde to dirty blonde.    
  
Fred and George looked at each other.  _ Finite Incantatem _ was an all-purpose counterspell.    
  
Professor McGonagall announced, “Anyone who is comfortable casting  _ Finite Incantatem _ , on themselves or others, please do so. Order in the classroom must be restored.”   
  
Some of the Slytherins were casting  _ Finite Incantatem _ on themselves, but many seemed remarkably hesitant. These reluctant Slytherin students were pursued by Fred, George, Lee, and in fact many of the other Gryffindor students, all clearly determined to be heroically helpful.    
  
Lee approached a tall Slytherin boy. “No, wait!” said the Slytherin, but Lee’s helpfulness could not be stopped. After a  _ Finite Incantatem _ , the boy’s robes were once more opaque, and also several inches too short.   
  
“ _ Finite Incantatem _ !” said Fred graciously, wielding his wand at a girl with sleek, shiny hair. The girl’s robes went opaque. Simultaneously, her hair puffed out in a wild mess. She shrieked and tried to flatten her hair down, to no avail.    
  
George looked around for a Slytherin trying to avoid detection. There was one, a boy. “ _ Finite Incantatem _ !” George saw no change other than his robes turning opaque, but then the boy winced and wrestled off his shoes, which were smaller than his worn-out-sock-clad feet.    
  
Many Gryffindors were enjoying being helpful to their Slytherin classmates. “ _ Finite Incantatem _ !” shouted Angelina Johnson gleefully, and a girl’s robes were opaque again. Also, several large pimples had appeared on her face.    
  
The Gryffindors soon hunted all their prey to extinction. The Slytherins’ robes were all opaque again, although many were ill-fitting and worn, and they were sporting a wide variety of skin blemishes and hairstyles. Frizz and cowlicks seemed to be in fashion. Many were complaining about beauticians whose work is so fragile, it can be destroyed by one simple spell. Others were whining that they had told their parents that they needed new clothes, not hand-me-downs, but had their parents listened? No.    
  
“Settle down, everyone!” commanded Professor McGonagall. Her lips were pressed into a thin line.    
  
The students returned to their seats and tried to be quieter.    
  
“On behalf of Hogwarts, I apologize to the first-year Slytherin students targeted by this prank. I assure you that whoever did this will be caught and punished. If you have any ideas about which older student or students may have pulled this prank on our class, please tell a staff member, publicly or privately. There is no need for this prank to cause strife within this classroom, as the culprit could not be one of you. Obviously, this prank is too advanced to have been done by a first-year.”   
  
The class was silent.    
  
Professor McGonagall continued. “I consider this an attack, not just on my students, but on me, as it is my class which has been disrupted. The transfiguration lessons I offer are a valuable part of a magical education. Interrupting them insults my subject and my teaching.”   
  
“But it’s not just your class!” Lee suddenly shouted. “It’s the whole school! All the Slytherins got pranked at the same time. Even Professor Snape, if you want to talk about teachers being disrespected.”   
  
Fred and George’s stares at Lee did not distinguish them, as everyone was staring at him.    
  
“How do you know this, Mr. Jordan?” asked Professor McGonagall, her eyes boring into him.    
  
Lee hesitated for just a moment, looking around at all the faces staring at him. Then he clearly decided to go for broke. “Because I did it!” he said proudly. “I pulled this prank! I cast a spell on the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory early this morning.”   
  
McGonagall looked shocked. “Didn’t any older students help you? This is some advanced charm work.”   
  
“Nope, just me, I did it all by myself,” Lee bragged.    
  
McGonagall’s eyes were wide behind her glasses. “That is very impressive,” she started, then she caught herself and put her stern expression on again. “And very wrong,” she added. “Fifty points from Gryffindor, and two weeks of detention for you, Mr. Jordan. I can see that Hogwarts has acquired a new prankster, the likes of which we haven’t seen in years. It’s my job to put a stop to this.”   
  
Lee nodded. “Oh, I’m just getting started,” he said, smiling.    
  
“That audacity cost another ten points from Gryffindor!” said McGonagall.    
  
“But I am sorry to interrupt your transfiguration class,” Lee said graciously. “Please go on about turning matches to needles.”   
  
Afterwards, the twins had much to discuss, in private. They waited until after dinner. Of course, dinner conversation was dominated by “Lee’s” prank. Students in every grade had their own stories to tell about how “Lee’s” prank had wrought havoc in the various classrooms. Apparently, the older students relied even more heavily on various charms to look presentable, so  _ Finite Incantatem _ had yielded even more extreme and hilarious results as these spells were broken. Many cases of suddenly unmanageable hair, spotty skin, and ragged, ill-fitting clothes were pantomimed, to the enjoyment of all of Gryffindor. The students who’d fallen asleep in History of Magic hadn’t noticed that their robes had gone transparent, and so they’d provided entertainment for the entire duration of the class, and even afterwards, as they’d woken up to rush to their next class. There was much speculation about why Professor Snape’s first reaction had been to clamp his left arm to his side, although general admiration for how quickly he had cast  _ Finite Incantatem _ on himself, then left his students to sort out the problem on their own as a learning exercise. Lee was the hero of Gryffindor. Even kids from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff came over to congratulate him.    
  
Fortunately, Fred and George were guaranteed not to be interrupted in their office during Lee’s detentions, so they could speak freely there after dinner.    
  
“Lee took the fall for us.”   
  
“He got the detention we deserved.”   
  
“Now everyone thinks he’s the most talented prankster at Hogwarts.”   
  
“He stole our glory.”   
  
“Which we didn’t want anyway.”   
  
“But still.”   
  
The twins locked eyes and communicated wordlessly, for no words adequately expressed their fury. They agreed. Their revenge must be terrible, and must knock Lee off the throne he had usurped.    
  
“What should we do to him?”   
  
“It’s got to be brilliant.”   
  
“Better than mere first-years could do.”   
  
They got out the map. Ornate calligraphy appeared on it immediately. “Mr. Padfoot congratulates you on your prank, which from what we could hear was a brilliant success.” The flourishes so closely resembled excitedly wagging dog tails, the twins had trouble staying angry while looking at them.   
  
“Thanks to you,” said Fred.    
  
“They were your ideas,” said George.    
  
“Mr. Prongs points out that the basic idea was yours. We merely added some refinements.”   
  
“Mr. Padfoot asks if Minnie still does that thing where she tries not to smile by pressing her lips together in a thin line.”   
  
“Minnie?” asked Fred.   
  
“Mr. Padfoot recalls that Professor Minerva McGonagall loves being addressed by her nickname.”   
  
“Mr. Wormtail would like to point out, just in case it’s not blatantly obvious, that Mr. Padfoot is a shameless liar. Professor McGonagall always gave detention to anyone who called her by her nickname. ‘Anyone,’ of course, means no one but Mr. Padfoot, since no one else dared presume such familiarity.”   
  
“Mr. Padfoot wishes to clarify that these ‘detentions’ were more like dates.”   
  
“Mr. Wormtail points out that Professor McGonagall punished Mr. Padfoot severely on these supposed ‘dates.’”   
  
“Mr. Padfoot asks Mr. Wormtail not to be so judgmental about other people’s preferences.”   
  
“Mr. Prongs points out that our friends reading this parchment are eleven years old, and would rather discuss pranks.”   
  
“Um, yeah,” said Fred.   
  
“We need to play a really good prank on Lee.”   
  
“So everyone knows he’s not the great prankster he claims to be.”   
  
“Mr. Prongs welcomes this assignment. We’re bound to come up with some brilliant ideas for you.”   
  
“Hey,” said George. “Where’s Mr. Moony tonight? I want to read his reactions to this prank, and his ideas for the next one. His book recommendations last time were brilliant.”   
  
Fred looked at his brother, then the parchment, in surprise. He hadn’t noticed the absence of the small, cramped writing, but now he missed it.    
  
There was a pause, then “Mr. Padfoot expresses Mr. Mooney’s regrets on his behalf, as he is not feeling well, and is resting.” The calligraphy seemed to droop sadly.    
  
Fred and George looked at each other. How could a personality trapped in a piece of parchment take ill?   
  
“Not feeling well?” said Fred.    
  
“Is there anything we can do?” asked George.    
  
“Does he need, I don’t know, fresh ink or something? A new quill?”   
  
“Mr. Prongs assures our friends that they should not worry, as Mr. Moony should recover soon.”   
  
“But what’s wrong with him?” demanded Fred.    
  
“Mr. Prongs reminds Messrs Weasley that our purpose is to assist with pranks, while concealing information about ourselves from everyone but our creators. For example, we will never tell why Mr. Moony is sometimes unavailable.”   
  
Fred and George looked at each other. That, apparently, was that.   
  
They were tired, having got little sleep the previous night. “It’s just before curfew,” said George. “Let’s make it an early night.”   
  
They headed back. They could see on the map that the Gryffindor Common Room was host to a gathering, with Lee, detention over, at the center. Their git brother Percy was off to the side, and Charlie was absent. They sighed.    
  
They crept back through the portrait hole and tried to sneak around the crowd of Lee’s admirers, but Percy caught them. “I see you have some competition now,” he gloated. “You’re not the best pranksters here, are you?”   
  
Fred made a sudden movement towards him, and Percy reached into his pocket to grab, not his wand, but his pet rat, which he held in front of him as a living shield. “You wouldn’t harm an innocent animal, would you? Charlie would have something to say about that.” The rat stared at Fred and George with its stupid little beady eyes.    
  
Angelina spotted them and tried to wave them over. “Fred, George, come over here! We’re all talking about that amazing prank Lee pulled today.”   
  
“We’re going to bed,” said George, pulling Fred up the stairs.    
  
George could tell that Fred was still angry. “An odd thing about the Marauder’s Map,” George said.    
  
“Why would Moony disappear tonight?” said Fred. “I’d have thought he’d want to congratulate us, and we him.”   
  
“No, another odd thing. The map shows some animals, but not others. It shows Mrs. Norris, but not Scabbers.”   
  
They mulled this over. “Mrs. Norris must be some sort of magical cat,” said Fred. “Maybe that’s why it shows her. Scabbers is obviously just an ordinary rat.”   
  
“That’s probably it,” agreed George.    
  



	4. Chapter 4

4  
  
In the privacy of their office, Fred and George consulted the map. They had a job to do: deprive Lee of his claim to the title of Best Prankster at Hogwarts.   
  
Before they said a word, familiar small, cramped handwriting appeared on the parchment. “Mr. Moony wonders how much experience you have with fireworks.”   
  
“Mr. Moony! You’re back!” said Fred.   
  
“Are you feeling better? We were worried about you,” added George.   
  
There was a pause, then, “Mr. Moony recommends a book called Fiery Festivities, hopefully still available in the library. We assume that you wish Lee’s humiliation to be as public as possible, and fireworks are an effective way of attracting the attention of the public.”   
  
Fred and George shared a glance and decided not to push it. “Right,” said Fred, jotting down the book title on a scrap of parchment. “Anything else?”   
  
“Mr. Padfoot recommends a book called Military Magic.”   
  
Fred and George exchanged another glance. “We don’t want to actually hurt him,” said George.   
  
“Not much,” clarified Fred.   
  
“Not permanently.”   
  
“Mr. Padfoot is thinking only of the chapters on capturing, securing, and transporting prisoners of war, although the other chapters are also very interesting.”   
  
“This sounds like an advanced book,” said George.   
  
“Mr. Wormtail acknowledges that it is, but has full confidence in your ability to perform the spells therein, with practice.”   
  
Fred jotted down the title. “So what’s your idea?”   
  
The Marauders told them. The twins boggled, and reminded the Marauders that they were only first-years.   
  
“Mr. Moony thinks you underestimate yourselves.”   
  
“Mr. Padfoot wonders if you are using your inexperience with magic as an excuse to avoid executing this prank, when your reluctance may in fact be the fault of ethical qualms.”   
  
“What do you take us for?” asked Fred, offended.   
  
“We’re not Hufflepuffs,” said George.   
  
“We’ll do it.” They ran to the library for the books.   
  
——-   
  
Preparation took weeks. There were potion ingredients to steal, fireworks to create, spells to learn and practice. Skipping the unimportant classes like History of Magic had the double advantage that they didn’t even know what homework had been assigned, so they couldn’t do it, and of course, they knew Lee wouldn’t interfere with them during class time, since the fool actually attended them.   
  
Finally, all their preparations were done. They collapsed into bed in the wee hours of the morning, suppressing their giggles so as not to wake their remaining dorm mates.   
  
When they skipped down to the Great Hall for breakfast, the enchanted ceiling was overcast and grey. Perfect. One grey cloud over the head table may have been hanging lower than the others, but who would notice something like that?   
  
The twins ate their breakfast with gusto. “You’re stooping to dine with us now?” said Angelina. “You usually just grab some toast and run.”   
  
Fred and George looked at each other.   
  
“Ooh, is Lee pranking the Slytherins again?” she asked. “He’s not here, so he must be setting up a prank, right? You must know, since you’re his friends. That last one was so amazing. How did he do it?”   
  
Fred and George kept eating their eggs and bacon.   
  
Unfortunately, Angelina was drinking pumpkin juice when the first explosions went off, and she sprayed it over everyone at their end of the table.   
  
Fred and George, like everyone else, craned their heads back to look at the source of the noise on the ceiling, just above the head table. Fireworks, blazing red and gold, formed letters which hung in the air, reading: “Hurray for Lee Jordan!”   
  
Some of the students, particularly at the Gryffindor table, started to applaud and whoop.   
  
A second round of explosions formed a second line of text below the first: “3rd Best Prankster at Hogwarts!”   
  
The letters, burning and sparking, were a bit hard to read, so it took some time for the derisive laughter to spread through the hall. The Slytherin table was loudest. Fred and George had mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, providing entertainment for Slytherins had not been their goal. On the other hand, Lee being laughed at by Slytherins was particularly humiliating. Fred and George locked eyes and agreed that some things are even more important than inter-house rivalry. They laughed as loudly as any Slytherin. The Hat had offered, but they’d successfully argued that Weasleys were always in Gryffindor.   
  
The professors didn’t have a good view, as the letters were right above their table. They got up to get out from under the blazing letters. Professor Snape drew his wand, but Professor Dumbledore put a restraining hand on his.   
  
Alas, the fireworks burned themselves out in a minute, leaving a haze of grey smoke and the scent of burnt gunpowder behind.   
  
Up at the head of the hall, Professor McGonagall pointed to the low-hanging cloud, which previously had been hidden by the burning letters. “What’s that?” Stage two of the prank was beginning. The twins’ grins stretched even wider.   
  
Snape slashed his wand furiously in the direction of the low-hanging cloud, and it dropped. The twins winced, but Snape stopped it just before it hit the head table, moved it over, then released it to drop the last few feet to the stone floor.   
  
Everyone stared at the oblong grey blob. It was clear that it had served as a base from which to launch the fireworks, but it was bigger than necessary for that. Snape moved his wand over it slowly, then, with another furious slash, split it open.   
  
Charlie bolted from the Gryffindor table. “Lee!” he cried. Indeed, the grey cocoon had opened to reveal their fellow prankster, unconscious, his skin an unhealthy shade of dark grey, his dreadlocks and pajamas damp with sweat. “We’ve got to get him to the hospital wing!”   
  
Madam Pomfrey quickly conjured a floating stretcher.   
  
Fred and George looked at each other. They’d told the Marauders they hadn’t wanted to really hurt him.   
  
“Whoever did this to a Gryffindor will face the consequences!” shouted Charlie to the hall. He glared at the Slytherin table, then sent a look at the Gryffindor table that was probably meant to be reassuring. “We Gryffindors stick together.” He followed Lee and Madam Pomfrey out of the hall.   
  
Snape finished his inspection of the empty cocoon, then rose to address the hall. “It seems that the prankster has been pranked,” he said. He looked happier than they’d ever seen him. “Some of you, particularly at the Gryffindor table, seem confused about what just transpired here, so I will explain. It’s quite obvious that this was a prank on Mr. Jordan, not by him. Some other prankster or pranksters used Mr. Jordan as a platform from which to launch fireworks. It would have been quite impossible for Mr. Jordan to have set this prank up himself from the undignified position in which he was put.”   
  
Fred and George wondered if grinning so broadly hurt Snape’s face.   
  
“Thus, we see what becomes of any fool who presumes to prank Slytherin House,” Snape continued.   
  
“Or, of course, any of our students,” interrupted Professor Sprout.   
  
Professor Snape nodded to acknowledge this minor point. Then he picked up the empty cocoon. “Headmaster Dumbledore,” he said respectfully. “If I examine this closely, I may be able to ascertain the identities of those who perpetrated this prank.”   
  
Professor McGonagall stood up. “Headmaster! Considering that it is quite likely that the pranksters are in Professor Snape’s own house, I hardly think it appropriate—“   
  
“I have full faith in Professor Snape,” said Professor Dumbledore mildly.   
  
McGonagall sat down, still seething.   
  
“Then I will lock this in my office for now,” said Snape, “and examine it as soon as my workload permits.” He nodded to Dumbledore, then swept out of the hall.   
  
——-   
  
At lunch Lee still wasn’t back. Everyone pestered Charlie for news. “Pomfrey wouldn’t even let me see him for a couple of hours,” he said, shaking his head. “I checked after every class. She says he’ll be all right, though. Heat exhaustion, she said, and partial as—, as—“   
  
“She meant he’s a half-assed prankster,” said Fred, but no one laughed.   
  
Even George glared at him. “Too soon,” he said.   
  
“Partial asphyxiation,” said Charlie, finally fitting the whole word in his mouth. “And some nasty attempt at a sleeping potion that wasn’t mixed right. And a concussion, probably from when Professor Snape dropped him.”   
  
“Damn that Snape!” shouted Fred.   
  
“He’s a menace!” agreed George.   
  
“I don’t think he’s the one who put him up there in the first place though,” said Charlie.   
  
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” said Fred.   
  
“It was obviously a Slytherin, and Snape’s the slytheriest of them all,” said George.   
  
“Snape wouldn’t actually poison one of his students,” said Charlie. “He knows how to make a decent sleeping potion. When I find out who did this to Lee, they’ll regret it. No one messes with a Gryffindor.”   
  
“Did Pomfrey finally let you see him?” asked Angelina.   
  
“Yeah,” said Charlie. He looked straight at Fred and George. “He asked to see you. You’re his friends, I’m sure it would really cheer him up if you visited him. Why don’t you go now? You’re not eating anyway.”   
  
Indeed, they weren’t. They stood. “Thanks for checking in on our friend,” said George weakly as they left.   
  
Fred made to reach for the map and sent a look at George as they walked.   
  
“Are you insane?” asked George. “They’re the ones who got us into this mess in the first place.”   
  
“I just thought they might have some ideas,” said Fred.   
  
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said George.   
  
Madam Pomfrey ushered them in to the hospital wing. “Mr. Jordan’s been asking for you constantly,” she said. “A visit from friends can be such a comfort. I’ll be in my office if he needs anything.” She left them by Lee’s bed.   
  
“This means war,” said Lee as soon as she was out of earshot.   
  
“We accept your surrender,” said Fred.   
  
“You’re outnumbered.”   
  
“Not to mention outclassed.”   
  
“Give up now before it’s too late.”   
  
A smile slowly broke out on Lee’s face as he looked at the twins. “Is that your final answer? I’m willing to call a truce if you apologize. Otherwise, as your brother Charlie says, you’ll face the consequences. Now that I know there are no limits on your pranks, there are no limits on mine either.”   
  
The twins looked at each other.   
  
“We’ll accept _your_ surrender,” said Fred.   
  
“But there’s no way you’re getting ours,” continued George.   
  
“That was an absolutely magnificent prank.”   
  
“We realize you didn’t have a great view of it.”   
  
“But everyone will tell you it was brilliant.”   
  
“We’ll never apologize for it.”   
  
“Are you insane?”   
  
“Probably,” said Lee agreeably. “I hear partial asphyxiation can do that. Then we have nothing else to discuss. Send Charlie back in when you get a chance, would you? Thanks.”   
  
The twins looked at each other.   
  
“Or I can just ask Madam Pomfrey,” Lee said. “So don’t go to any trouble on my account.”   
  
“Look, we know our brother is the champion of the downtrodden,” said Fred.   
  
“The weak,” continued George.   
  
“The pathetic.”   
  
“The helpless.”   
  
“Rats.”   
  
“Flobberworms.”   
  
“Hufflepuffs.”   
  
“And other dumb animals.”   
  
“But he’s still our brother.”   
  
“There’s no way he’d side with you against us,” concluded George.   
  
Lee closed his eyes. “I’m tired,” he said. “Must be from that badly-mixed sleeping potion someone slipped into my cauldron cake. And don’t you have a class to get to? I don’t of course. That’s a perk of lying here on my deathbed. You can show yourselves out now. I’m afraid I’m too tired to entertain company anymore.”   
  
“You’re not really on your deathbed,” said George. “We didn’t mean—“   
  
“Come on,” said Fred. “Show some respect to the dying.” He pulled his brother away before he weakened enough to apologize. There was no need. They had won.   



	5. Chapter 5

5  
  
Lee was still in the hospital wing during dinner, for which the twins weren’t hungry. This called for a serious discussion. They got up and left the Great Hall. Fred pulled the map out of his pocket before George could stop him.   
  
“I’m just checking if the route to our office is clear,” said Fred.   
  
“There’s calligraphy on it already,” said George.   
  
Indeed, they read, “Mr. Padfoot has a brilliant idea to completely crush Mr. Jordan so he will never dare cross you again.”  
  
George grabbed the parchment out of Fred’s hands and bolted to Gryffindor tower, Fred at his heels. Once in their dorm, George buried the map in the bottom of his battered trunk, slammed the lid shut, and sat on it. “We’re never using that parchment again,” he said, panting. “We almost killed Lee.”  
  
“We didn’t, though,” said Fred, flopping on his bed. “He should be up and about soon. And it’s not the Marauders’ fault we mixed the potion wrong.”  
  
“We never would have tried something that ambitious if they hadn’t egged us on,” said George.   
  
“So now we know to take their suggestions with a grain of salt,” conceded Fred.   
  
“We can’t keep using it,” said George firmly.   
  
“Yes we can,” said Fred just as firmly.   
  
“Switch?” proposed George.   
  
“Sure,” agreed Fred. “That parchment is way too dangerous. I say we burn it.”  
  
“That would be a terrible act of vandalism,” said George. “It’s an irreplaceable, unique magical artifact. Not to mention how extremely useful the map feature alone is.”  
  
“All we know about those four pranksters is that they suggest potentially lethal pranks half the time,” said Fred. “For all we know they’ll get even worse than this.”  
  
“And half their pranks have been good harmless fun,” said George.   
  
“You know what our father says—“  
  
“You’re not seriously citing our father as some sort of font of wisdom, are you? This is a man who collects plugs.”  
  
“We nearly killed Lee,” said Fred. “What will it take for you to realize that these Marauders are dangerous? For someone to actually die? Will we stop then?”  
  
George looked at his trunk longingly. “Could we use just the map part? We don’t need to talk to the Marauders at all.”  
  
“You think we can withstand temptation?” asked Fred skeptically.   
  
“We could try,” said George. “And not all their ideas are dangerous anyway.”  
  
“We can think of our own ideas,” said Fred. “We don’t need them. We were doing fine before we found that stupid parchment.”  
  
George nodded to concede this point.   
  
The issue having been thoroughly discussed, the twins locked eyes to come to a conclusion. They’d come up with their own prank ideas, just as they’d done before. They’d use the map feature of the parchment only, not take advice from the Marauders. They felt very relieved.   
  
They jumped when they heard a knock on the door of their dorm room. Their roommates wouldn’t have knocked. Then the door opened. Their brother Charlie came in.   
  
“Oh, you’re here,” he said. “I thought you ought to know. We know who pulled that awful prank on Lee!”  
  
The twins couldn’t say anything.   
  
“It was Thorfinn Rowle!” Charlie said gleefully. “After you left, there was this big commotion at the Slytherin table, everyone patting him on the back and shaking his hand. He confessed when I put just a little pressure on him. He’s a sixth-year, big blond guy. He used to be a beater on the quidditch team but he got kicked off for too many fouls. I wouldn’t have thought he was smart enough for something like this, but he admitted to doing the whole thing himself. Those Slytherins were treating him like some kind of hero. I reported him to Dumbledore of course, but I thought you should know too, ‘cause Lee’s your friend. And, you know. I’m a prefect, so I’m supposed to discourage and report pranks, but I’ll be really busy for the next few weeks and probably not able to keep as close an eye on you two as I should. Unless you need help with any special homework projects or anything. Tricky spells or whatever. I could help you with those.”  
  
The twins boggled at their brother. “Thanks,” they said eventually.   
  
“I’ve got to go tell Lee too,” said Charlie. “You want to come?”  
  
The twins shared a glance. As entertaining as that show would be, they doubted their ability to keep their faces straight for it. “No, you can go on without us,” they said. “We have some planning to do.”  
  
“Of course,” said Charlie. “Have fun.” He left.   
  
The twins collapsed on their beds, feeling wrung-out.   
  
“Even worse than a friend stealing our glory—“ said Fred  
  
“—is an enemy stealing our glory,” said George.   
  
“This calls for justice.”  
  
“Vengeance.”  
  
“It’s a good thing we’ll have help.”  
  
“From Charlie, you mean?”  
  
“Of course, Charlie. A sixth-year prefect can do a lot with proper guidance.”  
  
“I wondered if you meant Lee. Once he’s feeling better.”  
  
“You think he’ll be willing to work with us again?”  
  
“If we apologize—“  
  
“So never, then.”  
  
“What about after he pranks us?”  
  
“Then we’ll prank him back.”  
  
“I’d rather be pranking Slytherins.”  
  
Fred thought for a while. “You think Lee will accept our apology?”  
  
George felt like he could breathe again. “After he pranks us.”  
  
——-  
  
Saturday morning, rather than getting dressed in their school uniforms, Fred and George put on their ordinary clothes, which had been handed down through three brothers before reaching the twins, and headed to breakfast.  
  
Charlie was just heading out of the Great Hall as they were heading in. Charlie’s clothes had been handed down from only one older brother, so they weren’t terribly worn out yet, but they didn’t fit him right, as Bill’s shoulders hadn’t been nearly so broad, nor his biceps so bulging. Fred and George despaired to think what shape these clothes would be in once they eventually got a turn with them. Percy, at least, was fastidious about his clothes, so when he took his turn, he would try to repair the damage the clothes got on Charlie’s outdoor adventures, but there was only so much that could be done if you didn’t want your clothes turning to rags the moment someone said “ _Finite Incantatem_ ” at them.   
  
Fred and George joined their fellow Gryffindors for the popular breakfast pastime of glaring at the Slytherins, who laughed back at them.   
  
“I can’t wait for Lee to get out of the Hospital Wing and show those Slytherins a real prank,” said Angelina. “He won’t let them get away with this. Hey. You two are sort of pranksters too, right? Could you do something?”  
  
“We could try,” said Fred.   
  
“But we’re not nearly as good as Lee of course,” added George.   
  
“So we’d best wait for him.”  
  
“We’ll need someone to take the fall for us.”  
  
“Hopefully not literally.”  
  
“Although he does have experience.”  
  
“So we’re not ruling it out.”  
  
They had a lot to discuss. After breakfast, they headed for the lefthand seventh floor corridor.   
  
They had a routine by now. Their office door was so well-hidden, it required pacing past the wall three times to find it. Why the builders of Hogwarts would go to such trouble to hide a broom closet, they didn’t know, but they wouldn’t complain.   
  
Until it didn’t work. Then they certainly would complain. They paced three times, but the door did not appear. Six times, nine times, twelve times, and the wall stayed blank.   
  
They stared at the blank wall.   
  
“Why...” asked Fred.   
  
“Lee,” answered George.   
  
They stared at each other.   
  
“How?” asked Fred.   
  
“I don’t know. Magic, I guess.”  
  
Fred scoffed. “Thanks, that really narrows down the possibilities. But even if we knew which spells he used, he’s been stuck in the hospital wing. How could he do whatever it was he did?”  
  
George thought. “If Lee could figure out how to prank us, we can figure out how he did it.”  
  
Fred thought or a while. “No,” he said.   
  
“What do you mean, no?”  
  
“I mean we’ve lost this round. Our office vanished. We’ve been very effectively pranked. This is our opportunity to admit that to Lee. If we’re going to apologize, we’re going to do it right. Come on, we’re going to the hospital wing.”  
  
They went. Madam Pomfrey greeted them. “You must be here to visit Mr. Jordan,” she said, smiling.   
  
“Only if he’s well enough for visitors,” said George.   
  
“Oh, he’s doing much better. I’m sure he’ll be cheered by a visit from friends. Go right ahead, he’s over there.”  
  
The twins summoned their Gryffindor courage and walked to Lee’s bed. He must have known they were there, but didn’t look up from the Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle comic book he was reading.   
  
“Lee, we’re here to apologize,” said Fred.   
  
Lee was silent for a while. Then, “For what? Not stopping Rowle from playing that prank on me? I wouldn’t expect you to be able to do that. You’re just a couple of first-years.”  
  
“We’re being serious,” said George.   
  
“This isn’t a joke,” added Fred.   
  
“We really are sorry.”  
  
“And also very impressed.”  
  
“You managed to prank us from the hospital wing.”  
  
“How did you do it?”  
  
Lee finally put down his comic book. “Prank? What prank? I couldn’t have played any pranks on you. I’ve been lying here on my deathbed.”  
  
Lee had every right to make this difficult for them. They sighed, and resolved to suffer their punishment bravely.   
  
“Your prank with our office,” said Fred.  
  
“Oh, that,” said Lee. “That wasn’t a prank, really, that was more of a...”  
  
“What?” they said.   
  
“A warning,” Lee said, smiling. “A little thing like that doesn’t really count as a prank. It was just meant to give you an idea of what I could do.”  
  
The twins gulped.   
  
“How can we undo it?”  
  
“What do you mean, undo it?” Lee looked very convincingly blank. Damn he was good.  
  
“You’re cruel, Lee.”  
  
“Brilliantly cruel.”  
  
“No wonder we get along so well.”  
  
“No, I just don’t know how you think something like this can be undone. Aside from having Charlie obliviated or killed or something, which would be a bit much even for you, I think, it’s irreversible.”  
  
The twins involuntary stepped back. “Yes, that would be a bit much for us,” said George.   
  
“Perhaps our last prank gave the wrong impression.”  
  
“We don’t usually almost kill people.”  
  
“Maybe a few injuries,”  
  
“A few broken bones,”  
  
“Some light maiming,”  
  
“But nothing really serious.”  
  
“We don’t do serious.”  
  
“And we really are sorry.”  
  
“Really.”  
  
“Do you forgive us?”  
  
“Since we’ll need all the help we can get pranking Rowle.”  
  
Lee looked at them. “I’ll think about it.” Then he turned his attention back to his comic book. They had clearly been dismissed.   
  
“See you later, Lee.”  
  
“Get well soon.”  
  
“Hm.”  
  
They left, and headed back to the mystery of the seventh floor corridor.   
  
Fred pulled the parchment out of his pocket. “The Marauders would know how he did it.”  
  
“I thought I locked that in my trunk!” said George.   
  
“A lock like that doesn’t even count as a lock.”  
  
“But it’s the principle of the thing. We agreed not to take advice from the Marauders.”  
  
“We’re not going to take any pranking advice from them, we’re just going to ask them how Lee and Charlie managed to hide our office. Look, there’s writing on it already.”  
  
Small, cramped writing read, “Mr. Moony assures Messrs Weasley that we have locked Mr. Padfoot in a padded cell. We most sincerely apologize for our ill-advised prank, which endangered your friend’s life. Mr. Padfoot’s ideas will now be more carefully screened by the saner occupants of this map before we convey them to you. We hope you will not find it necessary to burn this parchment.”  
  
“Thanks,” said Fred.   
  
“You have a padded cell in there?” asked George.   
  
The blocky writing said, “If you ever decide to create a magical map, we cannot recommend attempting to fit more than three personalities into one parchment. Privacy can be in short supply in here, as can sanity. A padded cell is a necessary amenity. Ours gets regular use.”  
  
“Anyway,” said Fred. “We wanted to know if you have any ideas about how Lee hid our office. He’s been stuck in the hospital wing since your prank, and he won’t tell us how he did it. He’s pretending he didn’t even do anything. He must have got Charlie to do something for him, but we don’t think Charlie’s a good enough liar to have done this in secret. Charlie seems to believe that Rowle did your prank on Lee instead of us, just for the stupid reason that Rowle confessed.”  
  
“Mr. Wormtail thinks that your office’s disappearance is a very interesting subject, since we have never been able to see your office anyway, and have some doubts about its existence.”  
  
“Well, that’s helpful,” said George.   
  
“Mr. Prongs reminds Mr. Wormtail that the creators of this map drew it by hand, after searching Hogwarts on foot as thoroughly as possible, and they must simply have missed that room.”  
  
“Mr. Wormtail’s creator searched this corridor quite thoroughly.” The scribble was getting sloppier.  
  
“Mr. Moony is not casting aspersions on Mr. Wormtail’s cartographic skill,” said the cramped writing. “Mr. Wormtail was and is an essential member of our team.”  
  
“Mr. Wormtail wonders if the other Marauders forget that sometimes.”  
  
“Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Moony that Mr. Wormtail is an excellent cartographer, and essential Marauder.”  
  
“This is heartwarming and all,” said Fred, “but would you three please let Mr. Padfoot out? What you call insanity, I call getting stuff done.”  
  
The parchment was blank for a little while.  
  
“We don’t want any advice from him about what pranks we should do,” said George. “We just want his ideas about how Lee pranked our office, so we can undo it.”  
  
The parchment was blank for a while after that. Finally, beautiful calligraphy appeared, although it looked plainer than usual. “Mr. Padfoot suspects Mr. Jordan of using a notice-me-not charm, or possibly disillusionment, on the door. Did you try _Finite_ _Incantatem_?”  
  
Feeling stupid, Fred drew his wand and tried it, to no effect. “Doesn’t work.”  
  
“It must require some more specific counterspell,” said the calligraphy.   
  
“Lee said that we couldn’t undo it without having our brother Charlie obliviated or killed,” said Fred.   
  
“But we’re not going to do that,” specified George.   
  
“Mr. Jordan cast a Fidelius charm for the sake of a prank?!!” flailed the calligraphy, taking up most of the parchment with riotous flourishes. These words soon vanished to make way for the next. “And Mr. Charlie Weasley agreed to be the secret-keeper?!!!” These words vanished as well. “That is so fucking cool!!!”  
  
The twins were distracted from the calligraphy by the sounds of a scuffle and a girlish giggle. They looked up at what they expected to be a blank wall.   
  
That metamorphmagus girl from Hufflepuff was falling out of the open door of their office! The muscular, freckled arms of their brother Charlie reached out to catch her before she hit the stone floor. She laughed. “Good catch!” Once she was steady, supported in Charlie’s arms, she leaned on his broad, t-shirt-clad chest and kissed him. Her pink hair clashed horribly with his orange. A Hufflepuff was snogging their Gryffindor brother!  
  
When they came up for air, the Hufflepuff pointed at the tapestry on the wall opposite their formerly-secret office and cackled, “I’m so clumsy, I should join Barnabas the Barmy’s ballet troupe, with his trolls!”  
  
“Don’t say that,” said Charlie, trying not to laugh with her.   
  
“I say what I want,” she said firmly. “Oh, hello!” for she’d spotted Fred and George, who were staring at her and Charlie, horrified. Through the open door of their no-longer-secret office, they seemed to catch a glimpse of a smallish room containing a large rumpled bed, illuminated by candles, but that couldn’t be right.   
  
Charlie closed the door behind him, and then the wall looked blank again, with no door at all.   
  
“I don’t fit the fashion, do I?” laughed the Hufflepuff, looking at these three Weasley brothers, and her hair turned from pink to orange to match theirs, as freckles bloomed across her face. Then she walked to the twins and got down on their level, not by kneeling as normal people do when they want children to think they’re sincere, but by shrinking to the size of an eleven-year-old. “I hope you appreciate what a great guy your brother Charlie is, boys,” she said. “He’s so gentle and kind, even to helpless animals! Such a sweetheart. With kindness like that, he could have been a Hufflepuff.”  
  
Charlie at least had the self-respect to blush under his many freckles.   
  
“Charlie gets very upset when you pull pranks on Percy in a way that Percy will just deflect to that poor pet rat of his,” continued the Hufflepuff. “It’s cruel, and unsporting to pull pranks on a dumb animal that can’t prank you back. Please stop it, all right? Anyway, I’m sure you’re clever enough to think of pranks that will hit their target directly, and not harm any innocent animals. Rowle certainly isn’t an innocent animal. I’m looking forward to seeing what you Weasleys come up with. Let me know if I can help.”  
  
The Hufflepuff smiled, then turned and tried to walk back to Charlie. Of course she tripped, as her clothes were now much too long for her. Charlie had clearly been anticipating this, and again caught her before she hit the stone floor. She laughed, and grew back to her usual size, of a sixteen-year-old girl. She admired Charlie’s muscles flexing as her weight increased, and popped another kiss on him.   
  
“Anyway, I do have to go,” she apologized to Charlie, “but I’ll see you later, right?”  
  
“Right,” he said.   
  
She clomped away in her usual clumsy walk, vanishing her freckles and turning her hair back to her usual pink as she did so.   
  
Once she was gone, the twins fixed their glares on Charlie.   
  
“Lee told you,” said George flatly.   
  
Charlie nodded. “Well, Tonks was very insistent that we find a place to, um, study together, and...”  
  
“And when we weren’t willing to tell you, you asked Lee,” said Fred.   
  
“And Lee just blabbed to you,” continued George.   
  
“So now you’re using our office.”  
  
“And locking the door from the inside.”  
  
“He said it was OK with you,” said Charlie.   
  
“What?” said Fred.   
  
“He said he discussed this with you, and you said it was OK for him to tell me. He says he has lots of information I might want to know, but he’ll always check with you first.”  
  
The twins stared at Charlie, then each other. Lots of information Charlie might want to know? And then where would it go after that? To a professor? Merlin help them, to their mother?  
  
They’d deal with Lee later. “And then you showed it to a Hufflepuff! That’s a whole different house!” said Fred.   
  
“A Hufflepuff, Charlie! You know what they’re like!”  
  
“Pretty soon she’ll tell every other Hufflepuff, just to be friendly!”  
  
“This’ll be the most popular room in the castle!”  
  
“They’ll post a signup sheet to reserve it to avoid scheduling conflicts!”  
  
“Our secret office is ruined.”  
  
“So you have to find us another one.”  
  
“No,” said Charlie. “You’ve got it all wrong. That’s just a stereotype about Hufflepuffs, that they share everything with each other. Tonks has been looking for a private, secret room for a while. She wouldn’t just blab about it now that she’s finally got one.”  
  
“Tonks?”  
  
“Is that her name?”  
  
“What kind of a name is Tonks?”  
  
“That’s her surname,” explained Charlie. “She won’t tell me her given name since she doesn’t like it.”  
  
The twins considered this. Maybe not all was lost.   
  
“All right,” conceded Fred. “Maybe she won’t make a general announcement in the Hufflepuff Common Room. But what if she decides to tell just one person, like you told just one person, or like Lee did—“  
  
“Or like we did,” added George.   
  
Charlie seemed quite struck by the idea. He blanched beneath his freckles.   
  
“What if she leads one special person here, on condition of secrecy—“  
  
“Aargh!” said Charlie. Gratifyingly, he seemed to be taking the loss of their private office quite seriously now. “She wouldn’t! Would she? We haven’t really talked about it.”  
  
“Well, talk about it,” commanded Fred.   
  
“Make sure she doesn’t show this room to anyone else.”  
  
“I don’t know,” fretted Charlie. “She doesn’t tolerate anyone telling her what to do. Aargh! She said this would just be a bit of fun and now everything’s all complicated.” He sighed. “Well, I can’t talk to her now, she’s busy. I’m going down to see Kettleburn. He can always use help with the animals. He says I’ve got a real knack with unicorns. Wait. Do I still?” He left, looking quite distracted.   
  
When he was gone, Fred and George searched the map for a retreating dot with the surname Tonks. Wow. “Nymphadora really is a stupid name.”  
  
After all these obstacles, they could finally resume their original plan, pace three times and enter their office. It was a broom closet again, no bed, no candles. Odd. Whatever. They had a prank to plan.   
  
“So. It’s apparently possible to make doors vanish.”


	6. Chapter 6

6  


“Charlie, our favorite brother!” said Fred.

“We’re so glad we ran into you,” added George.

“You know this is when the Gryffindor team practices,” said Charlie, cleaning mud off his broom before putting it back in the shed.

“And what a fine practice it was!”

“The sight of you soaring through the air like a swallow makes us proud to be Weasleys.”

“Proud to be Gryffindors.”

“Proud to be alive in this era of magnificent quidditch.”

“Which will be recalled in history as a golden age—“

“Just tell me what you want already,” said Charlie.

“Our dear mother instructed us to look up to you—“

“—which we do, literally.”

“Craning our necks,”

“As you soar overhead.”

“And follow your advice.”

“Which we are happy to do,”

“Since you never offer it unsolicited.”

“But now we’re soliciting.”

“So.”

“How would one go about manipulating a professor into handing out a pass to the Restricted Section of the library?” 

Charlie bristled his orange eyebrows at them. “Is this about pranking Rowle?”

“Pranking?”

“What’s that?”

“This is an unfamiliar vocabulary word.”

“Since we’re just wee ickle firsties.”

Charlie sighed. “Professor Trelawney is your easiest target. Bribe her with a bottle of sherry. I can get it in Hogsmeade next weekend. You’d better pay me back though.”

“Of course,” they said, figuring they could sell the schoolbooks they weren’t using much anyway.

“We also have one itsy bitsy favor to ask you.”

“We’ll need you to steal a few potion ingredients from Snape’s stores.”

“What?”

“Oh, and we’ll also need to borrow your girlfriend.”

“You can’t borrow a person!”

Good, he hadn’t objected to the theft, which meant he’d agreed. “Why not?”

“Because… Because she’s a person, is why not. You can just ask her. I’m sure she’d love to help. She’s no fan of Rowle. He called her a… a bad word.”

“She certainly isn’t a bad word.”

“She isn’t a word at all.”

“She’s a person, isn’t she?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“I forget where I heard it, though.”

“Maybe she really is a word.”

“Charlie, do you often find her on the tip of your tongue?”

Charlie inexplicably blushed.

“Well, we’re off to request your girlfriend’s assistance.”

“Because she’s a person, with free will and all that rot.”

“Cheerio.”

They left their magenta brother by the broom shed and cast a discrete look at the map. Nymphadora Tonks was in the shadow of the quidditch seating, which was the perfect place for a private ambush. They hurried to accost her.

“Greetings and salutations!”

“Oh, hello boys! How’s the pranking coming along? Have you figured out what you’re doing to Rowle yet?”

“Can you look like a real person?” asked Fred.

Tonks gave him the hairy eyeball.

“Other than yourself, we mean,” said George. 

Tonks answered this by growing taller, her legs showing sallow skin and black hair under her school uniform as she outgrew it. Her pink hair turned black to match, growing long and greasy. Her eyes stayed black, but were set deeper in her sallow face, as her nose grew into a prominent hook. “Fifty points from Gryffindor for suggesting such a thing!” she sneered in not-quite-Snape’s voice.   
  
The twins, after a moment of silent awe, applauded.

“Marvelous!”

“Magnificent!”

“Can you do Rowle?”

Long black hair turned short and blond, and black eyes turned blue. Shoulders broadened until they strained fabric, then stopped. “I can’t do the shoulders properly now or I’ll rip my clothes,” Tonks’s girlish voice apologized from Rowle’s heavy-jawed face. “They’re simple, though, pretty much the same as a gorilla’s.”

“Can you do his voice?”

“Hm.” Her voice got lower. “You slutty spawn of a mudblood! There'll be only one use for you when we put things right, and you lot can no longer pretend to be our equals. We won’t kill you right away.” Her voice got higher, like normal. “How’s that? Voices are tricky, because one’s voice always sounds different from inside one’s own head than from the outside.”

The twins were speechless. 

“Did he really say that to you?” Fred finally said.

“And then he complains I can’t take a joke,” she said bitterly from his face. Pimples bloomed across Rowle’s forehead.

“I’m starting to think the prank we had planned isn’t bad enough,” said George.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” she said as she gave Rowle’s face a black eye. “It’s a start at least. So what do you think Rowle should be seen doing?” 

“To start, all you’ll have to do is convince Professor Trelawney to give Rowle permission to check out a book called Magipsychedelia from the Restricted Section of the library. Charlie will give you a bottle of sherry to bribe her with to make her more amenable.”

“Charlie? I don’t need him to buy the sherry for me. It’s not like it’s that expensive.”

“Charlie seemed to think it was.”

“It’s really not. Trelawney’s the easiest Professor to bribe. My mum told me which professors are bribeable and how to bribe them before I even got my Hogwarts letter. Didn’t your mum do the same?”

The twin boggled at her. “We don’t think our mum would encourage bribing professors.”

“My mum wants me to bring home good grades,” explained Tonks with a shrug. “Anyway, don’t you dare tell Charlie he has to buy my bribes for me. That would be embarrassing, as if I couldn’t afford to bribe professors myself.”

The twins exchanged a glance, but didn’t say anything.

“So you want Rowle to be seen getting this restricted book?” she prompted.

“Yes, and then you’ll discretely deliver it to us. Then you’ll have a break for a while, as Charlie does some stuff, so you may do whatever it is Hufflepuffs do to pass the time. Then you’ll represent Rowle again. For that, well, we have some suggestions, but you’re also welcome to use your imagination.”

She smiled. Rowle’s teeth, the ones that weren’t missing, were yellow and black. Hufflepuff colors. She metamorphed back to her usual pink-haired, white toothed self. “I’ll borrow Charlie’s school robes, his shoulders are about as broad as Rowle’s. You won’t tell Charlie I think he has shoulders like a gorilla, will you?”

“That hadn’t occurred to us until you mentioned it,” said Fred.

“It occurred to me immediately,” said George.

“Charlie would be flattered by the comparison. He loves animals,” said Fred.

“So there would be no point to us telling him,” added George.

“Boys, does Charlie talk to you about me?” Tonks asked nervously.

 The twins looked at each other, but neither knew what to make of this.

“Does he like me? I mean, really like me? Is he serious about me?”

“Sorry, that’s not our department,” said Fred.

“We don’t do serious,” explained George. They ran off to tell Charlie not to waste Weasley money on sherry. He seemed relieved.

“Oh, and you’d better talk to Tonks about not telling anyone else about our office,” said Fred.

“Do it now. She’s right over there, in the shadow of the stands.”

Charlie swung his head around to look. “She’s been hiding in the shadows, watching me practice quidditch? That’s kind of creepy.”

“Convenient, though. Go on.” They shoved him in her direction and hurried off. They also had to visit the hospital wing.

“Oh, come right in, you two,” said Madam Pomfrey cheerfully. “You know where Mr, Jordan is, go right ahead. I’ll be in my office if need anything.”

George headed straight to Lee’s bed. “Lee, good buddy dear friend old chap, you’re looking well.”

“What’s Fred doing?” asked Lee.

“One would think you’ve never seen anyone break into a locked medicine cabinet with a hairpin before,” said George. “Don’t disturb the master at work.”

“Could you teach me how to do that?” asked Lee.

“Anything for a friend,” said Fred, opening the cabinet, removing a bottle, pouring some into a smaller bottle from his pocket, corking and replacing both bottles, and closing and locking the cabinet again. “A friend who doesn’t go blabbing secrets.”

“Deal,” said Lee. “It’s awfully boring here. Madam Pomfrey says if I’m bored, I can study. I should be out soon though.”

“I’ll teach you later,” said Fred. “If you’re good at keeping secrets.”

“Not today, sorry,” said George.

 “We’ve got a lot to do.”

“You can pass the time looking forward to Rowle’s next prank. It will be spectacular.”

“And he won’t even remember doing it, so all the denizens of Hogwarts must pay close attention and remember it for him.”

“And remind him of their favorite parts whenever possible.”

“Get well soon! You won’t want to miss it.”

“Bye!”

“You leaving already?” asked Lee. “That was hardly a visit at all.”

“No rest for the wicked,” and they were gone.

——-

They needed their office to be private, so they cornered Charlie trying to study in the Common Room and spoke in hushed, serious voices.

  
“Did you speak to Tonks about our office?” demanded Fred.   
  
“Er, no,” admitted Charlie. “I don’t really know what to say.”   
  
“Just tell her she’s not to show that room to anyone else. It has to stay a secret.”   
  
“But she’s kind of hard to talk to. I mean. There’s no telling her she can’t do something. She does what she wants.”   
  
The twins’ glares let Charlie know this was not an acceptable excuse.   
  
“I hardly ever get a chance to talk to her in private anyway,” Charlie continued. “She’s always in the Hufflepuff dormitory or somewhere, and we don’t have many classes together, and I see her at mealtimes in the Great Hall but it’s so crowded—“   
  
“She’s on the grounds right now, between the Whomping Willow and the Forbidden Forest,” said George.   
  
“She’s there nearly every day around this time,” said Fred. “For half an hour or so.”   
  
Charlie stared at them. “How do you know that?”   
  
“We know everything,” said George casually.   
  
“So go talk to her,” said Fred.   
  
“Now.”   
  
They went with him to make sure he didn’t chicken out.   
  
There was Tonks, doing the most peculiar things. Behind the Whomping Willow, which blocked their view of the castle, a rough obstacle course had been set up. Tonks was doing her best to balance as she walked across fallen trees, jumped from rock to rock, and so on. Her best was pretty bad.   
  
“Damn!” she said as she fell yet again. “Oh, hello!” Her face blushed nearly as pink as her hair. “I’m afraid my performance isn’t worthy of an audience yet, unless you like slapstick,” she said while lying on the ground.   
  
“Oh, we do,” Fred assured her.   
  
“This is comedy gold,” added George.   
  
“What are you doing?” asked Fred.   
  
The Hufflepuff got up and resumed trying to walk along a fallen log. “I’m trying to be less clumsy,” she said. “It must just take practice, right?”   
  
“I don’t think you’re clumsy,” said Charlie awkwardly.   
  
Tonks stared at him with her currently-dark eyes. “Are you an idiot or a liar?”   
  
“Idiot,” said the twins in union.   
  
“Believe us, we’ve known him all our lives,” said Fred.   
  
“All brawn, no brains,” added George.   
  
“What are you doing here?” she asked. She tried to cross her arms sternly but realized she needed to hold them out for balance.   
  
“Charlie has something important to say to you but couldn’t work up the nerve to say it,” said Fred.   
  
“So we’re here to make sure he goes through with it.”   
  
Tonks fell off her log. Charlie helped her up.   
  
“Yeah,” said Charlie. “Um. Well. I just realized that when you said you wanted to find a private place for us in Hogwarts, and I found one, and took you there, we didn’t really talk about it. So I just wanted to make sure that, um, it’s just us there. That you don’t go there with anyone else. And of course, I won’t bring anyone else there either.”   
  
The twins then regretted accompanying Charlie on this mission, since ew, the Hufflepuff was snogging their brother again.   
  
“Oh Charlie,” she said eventually, so the twins figured it was safe to look. “I didn’t know you were so serious about me.”   
  
“Um.”   
  
“I didn’t think I really had a chance with you, I mean, you’re a prefect, captain of your house Quidditch team, not to mention both the kindest and the cutest guy in Hogwarts. You could have any girl you wanted!”   
  
“I could?” asked Charlie.   
  
“And you want to go steady with me!”   
  
“I do? Oh, um, I mean, of course, yes, I do. Don’t sell yourself short, you’re a great girl.”   
  
“You know I’m just a halfblood, right? I mean, I know the Weasleys are one of the old pureblood families—“   
  
“Hey!” interrupted Fred, all concern for the privacy of their office forgotten when faced with this insult.   
  
“We might be purebloods,“ conceded George.   
  
“But we’re not blood purists!” said Fred.   
  
“So don’t you dare bring up blood as if it’s important,” added George.   
  
“Yeah,” said Charlie.   
  
“And I know your whole family’s Gryffindor, and I’m a Hufflepuff,” said Tonks.   
  
The twins silently glared at Charlie.   
  
“Um,” said Charlie when he realized that no one was going to address this point but him. “At least you’re not a Slytherin.”   
  
“Almost my whole family’s Slytherin,” said Tonks. “Except for the muggle side of course.”   
  
“Um,” said Charlie.   
  
“So I know what you mean,” she concluded.   
  
“The important thing is,” said Fred, “neither one of you is going to take anyone else to that hidden room on the seventh floor, so this is all settled.” He looked at George, and they both headed back to the castle.   
  
“That went very well,” said George.   
  
“We tied that loose end right up.”   
  
“Things are much simpler now.”   
  
“Right,” said Fred. 


	7. Chapter 7

Lee was out of the hospital wing that evening. He was mobbed by adoring and sympathetic Gryffindors at dinner, so Fred and George stayed out of their way, scoring extra servings of pudding while everyone was distracted. 

Once they were in their dorm room, however, there was no avoiding him. He pouted at them, silly boy.

“Don’t be a bad loser, Lee,” said Fred.

“You should really be counting your blessings.”

“Once you see what we do to Rowle, you’ll realize you actually had it easy.”

Lee perked up at that. “What have you got planned?”

The only appropriate response to that was matching grins.

——-

Charlie handed the book to them a few days later, as they entered the Gryffindor Common Room. “What’s this about?” he asked.

“This would be better discussed in our office,” said Fred, so the three of them went there. They flicked on the light switch and sat Charlie on one of the three chairs in the cramped broom closet. Charlie looked confused, but then again he often did.

“All we need from you, is for you to steal the ingredients for one of these potions from Snape’s stores. That greasy git increased his security after Rowle’s botched sleeping potion, so now it’s a bit more of a nuisance for a couple of wee ickle firsties to liberate ingredients, but that should be no challenge to a wizard in his prime, like you. Now which potion should we choose?” Fred flipped through the book. “Draught of Waking Dreams? Lotion of Wild Abandon? Giddy Gas? Manic Derangement Emulsion? Ooh, that sounds nice. Let’s try that one.”

Charlie snatched the book out of Fred’s hands and read the ingredients. “Datura? Henbane? Ergot? Venom of a Sonoran Desert toad? Mugworm griblick? These are poisons! Fred, George, you’re first-years! You can’t go brewing potions like these! You’ll kill someone if you get it wrong! You saw what happened to Lee when Rowle brewed a simple sleeping potion wrong. I’d tell you not to stoop to his level, but this is even lower. I promised mum I’d do my best to stop you two from getting expelled, but this is worse. This is murder. You’d go to Azkaban for this.” 

Fred sighed. “Charlie, brother, what do you take us for?”

“Murderers.”

“If we wanted to murder Rowle, we wouldn’t be so derivative about it,” said George.

“Badly-brewed potions are so last week,” said Fred.

“We’ve moved on.”

“Now the fashion is for framing other people for badly-brewed potions.”

“Without actually endangering anyone’s life.”

“Unless Rowle drops dead from shame.”

“Which might happen.”

“And which we wouldn’t mind.”

“All we mean to do is help Rowle solidify his grasp on the title of Hogwarts’s most incompetent and reckless potioneer.”

“A title for which he seemed eager when he confessed to his prank on poor Lee.”

“And we’re going to achieve this without any student actually brewing any potions.”

“All we need to do is give the impression that Rowle has stolen the ingredients for a mind-altering potion.”

“And then brewed and drunk it himself.”

“Explaining why he’s making a complete fool of himself in public.”

“More complete than usual.”

“All while the real Rowle sleeps peacefully and undisturbed.”

“Under the influence of a perfectly safe sleeping potion endorsed by Madam Pomfrey herself.”

“Which we have already stolen.”

“And which he is going to drink at a convenient time.”

“We haven’t yet worked out how exactly.”

Charlie thought. “So Rowle has to stay hidden, asleep, so no one realizes the Rowle prancing around acting worse than usual is actually Tonks?”

The twins looked at each other. They hadn’t mentioned how they’d use the Hufflepuff, but Charlie knew them pretty well.

“Give me the sleeping potion,” said Charlie. “Come on, hand it over. I confiscated a bottle of elf-made wine from some third-years. I’ll add the sleeping potion, then let slip to Rowle that I have it, so he’ll steal it and drink it himself.”

The sooner Fred got stolen goods off his person, the better. He drew the bottle from his pocket and put it in Charlie’s broad, calloused hand.

“Stealing from Snape will be easy,” Charlie continued as he tucked the bottle in his pocket. “He likes me, as much as he can like any Gryffindor, since I give him spare hairs that fall out when I’m grooming the unicorns. He told me to just drop them off in his stores as I gather them. Snape will hopefully notice the potion ingredients are gone, but I’m not giving them to you. I don’t trust you not to mix this potion yourself.” He found a scrap of parchment on the floor to use as a bookmark for the Manic Derangement Emulsion, then put the book in another pocket of his robes. It was a small book, as if designed to be concealed. “I’ll let you and Tonks know when I’ve got the potion ingredients. I’ll wait at least a day to give Rowle time to brew the potion, then let him steal the spiked elf-wine. Then you’re on your own and I know nothing about this.”

“Of course you don’t, brother.”

“Everyone knows you never know anything.”

“Your soul is as pure as the driven snow.”

——-

“Rowle is passed out in the Owlery,” reported Charlie in a whisper, amid the din of the Saturday lunchtime clatter at the Gryffindor table. “He’s lying under the perches. Disillusioned. My disillusion spell isn’t very good, and it should wear off in an hour or two anyway, but he should resemble the rest of the floor soon enough even without a spell. I’ve told Tonks already, and let her get Rowle’s broom from the shed, and locked it again with Rowle’s wand afterwards. You really think it’s a good idea for her to fly? She’s even clumsier in the air than on the ground.”

The twins shared a glance. They hadn’t said anything to Tonks about flying.

Thorfinn Rowle suddenly flew by on his broom, careening erratically around the Great Hall. Tonks had found a simple solution to the problem of obtaining Rowle’s clothes, as he wasn’t wearing his own clothes, the twins assumed. He was wearing lime green knickers and a matching bra, the band straining across his broad chest. The knickers fit fine.

“I’m a beautiful green fairy!” shouted Rowle’s deep voice, approximately. “Look at me fly!”

Snape raised his wand and tried to point it at Rowle, but the broom was wobbling and jerking so erratically he had trouble aiming. McGonagall pulled Snape’s wand arm down. “You could knock him off his broom!” she said. Then she pressed her lips together into a thin line.

Rowle zoomed along the length of each table, giving everyone an excellent view, then, laughing his deep laugh, zoomed out the door.

He was followed by a mob of students and professors, who spilled onto the front lawn to watch the show. Whatever else one might say about Rowle, he’d always been a good flyer, but that skill was not apparent now, as he wobbled and flailed on his broom, seeming to drift randomly in the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

A loud whistle pierced the air. Many students gave their necks a rest by looking down from the sky, to Madam Hooch, as she pulled her whistle out of her mouth. “Quidditch players, to the broom shed!” she called. “We’ll catch him like a snitch.” Twenty-eight students struggled through the crowd to the quidditch pitch. Twenty-seven of them, even the Slytherin team, seemed to consider this great fun. The twenty-eighth, Charlie, looked worried. That fool couldn’t hide his emotions to save his life, or, more importantly, to pull a prank.

The twins, not having brooms, moved along anonymously in the mob pursuing Rowle. They acted as delighted as anyone when Rowle tangled his broom in the highest branches of a pine tree, which whipped back and forth as it absorbed his momentum.

Rowle found a foothold and stood on the swaying top of the tree, holding on with one hand while gesticulating with the other. Snape fought his way through the crowd to stand at the base of the tree, drew his wand, and cast a cushioning charm on the ground.

“I’m a dragon! I can breathe fire!” Rowle burped. His voice had to be magically magnified, as the sound wouldn’t have reverberated across the grounds like that otherwise. “I’m an owl! Time to shed some more feathers!” He unhooked his bra with practiced skill and threw it far into the crowd, which fought over it. “Last feather!”

Rowle, wobbling on the swaying tree, clumsily stepped out of his lime green knickers. Fred and George were suddenly less impressed with Tonks’s metamorphmagus skill, as she didn’t seem to have got the proportions right. The muscles of Rowle’s arms, chest, and shoulders all seemed correct, but with these parts so big, could other parts really be so small? Even accounting for shrinkage, as the weather was quite chilly, it did look odd.

Fred and George weren’t the only ones struck by the incongruity, as just about everyone in the crowd was remarking on it.

Rowle dropped his lime green knickers straight down onto Snape’s head. Snape shook the offending undergarment off in annoyance.

“Think he’ll finally wash his hair now?” George asked Fred.

“I’m a pretty, fluffy owl!” shouted Rowle. “Hoo hoo! Look at my cute little beak! I’m going to carry a message far away!” He pulled his broom from the branches it had snagged in, mounted it, and zoomed away, wobbling upside down as he flew. “Now I’m a bat!” He was gone faster than the crowd could follow.

“It would suck if Rowle woke up before this was over,” said Fred quietly.

“Maybe we should check on him.”

“Soothe him back to sleep with a lullaby.”

“Or a rock, if necessary.”

They walked to the Owlery. They couldn’t even find Rowle. The prank would be ruined if two Rowles were seen at the same time. They locked eyes. They had to track him down… The map! Of course!

Fred pulled it out of his pocket. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” There was a chaotic mass of names near the Forbidden Forest, a smaller group by the broom shed, and in the Owlery, four names: the two of them, Thorfinn Rowle quite nearby, and Nymphadora Tonks.

The twins looked up to see a mousy-haired Hufflepuff shimmering into existence before them. Fred stuffed the map into his pocket fast. She looked at Fred and George with a big smile. “How’d I do? I never thought being a clumsy flyer would come in handy.” She pulled Rowle’s broom out of a small bag, which must have had an undetectable extension charm on it. Then she laid the broom on the floor besides Rowle, who was naked, yet barely noticeable under a fading disillusionment charm and stalagmites from the perches above. She laid his wand by his right hand. “Pleasant dreams! I’d kiss you goodnight, but you’re covered with owl poo.”

Then the mousy-haired girl, who was apparently Tonks, although almost unrecognizable without her trademark pink hair, turned to Fred and George. “We’d better join the rescue teams searching the lake for Rowle. He was last seen headed in that direction. The poor boy may be drowning at this moment. Everyone’s there. I was with you all along, if anyone asks. Come on.

The three giddily ran across the grounds to join the mob, which was now disordered, as Rowle had disappeared. Professor Kettleburn charged into the Forbidden Forest. Professor Sprout stood on the shore of the lake, ate a handful of gillyweed, then dived into the icy water to consult with the merfolk.

Finally, the quidditch teams appeared on their brooms, zooming all over the grounds. As they were all clothed, they disappointed many of the students.

“Attention, students,” said Professor Dumbledore, his voice magically amplified. “There is strength in numbers, so please search the safe parts of the grounds for Mr. Rowle. The professors will search the Forbidden Forest and lake, so there is no need for any students to endanger themselves by searching those areas. Send sparks into the air if you find him. Thank you.”

Everyone ran around searching the grounds. Fred, George, and Tonks looked at each other.

“This could take a while,” said Fred.

“Do you think the food’s still on the tables in the Great Hall?” asked George. “He might be under a chicken leg or something. We should go check.”

Tonks shook her head. “No,” she said, as they passed a small clump of Ravenclaw students, who seemed to be using an astrolabe to calculate the height of the tree that had recently held Rowle. “I don’t think he’d be in the Owlery. He was only going on about being an owl for a short time, he must have moved on to some other delusion soon after.” A Ravenclaw looked up at this, then excitedly spoke to her friends. Soon the little group was headed for the owlery. 

Fred and George looked at Tonks admiringly. “You know, for a Hufflepuff, you’re all right,” said Fred. 

Tonks beamed.

Soon, blue sparks shot from the Owlery. Try as they might, Tonks and the twins had no hope of fighting their way through the crowd to see Rowle, so they gave up and simply headed back to the Great Hall. When they were halfway across the lawn, Charlie, with the grace that made him the star of the Gryffindor quidditch team, swooped down from the sky to land next to them. Tonks had terrible taste, to willingly snog a boy whose magenta face clashed so absurdly with his orange hair. The twins were too cool to blush like that, and also too cool to like girls, who were obviously icky.

“Tonks!” exclaimed Charlie. “What in Merlin’s name… That was crazy, and reckless, and—“

“You were worried about me?” asked Tonks, delighted.

“Well yeah! You could have been hurt.”

“I drank a feather-falling potion before getting on the broom of course,” she said. “And used a warming charm, like the one you put on Rowle. I was perfectly safe. But I had to show you I can be as brave and bold as any Gryffindor. Your house has a reputation you know. Especially you Weasleys. I remember Bill and his Dark Arts, and now there’s you and your dangerous beasts, and the twins with their pranks… I don’t know Percy that well, but he must be brave too, right?”

The twins sniggered. 

“Well anyway, I fit right in with your family, right? I’m not too much of a Hufflepuff, am I?”

“Did someone say you were too much of a Hufflepuff?” asked Charlie.

The twins decided to give Charlie and his Hufflepuff some privacy, as with emotions running this high, there was an imminent danger of snogging. They resumed their walk to the Great Hall, and were delighted to discover that the food was still on the tables. They ate a well-earned meal.

The other students trickled back in. Lee soon joined them. “Fred. George. How did you do that?”

“Do what?” asked Fred.

“Did something noteworthy occur?” asked George.

“I did feel a bit of a draft a little while ago.”

“And then the Hall got less crowded.” 

“More pudding for us.” 

“We didn’t miss anything, did we?”

Angelina, who had arrived as well, stared at them. “Wait. You’re saying you two somehow did this?”

“We’re not saying that at all,” objected Fred.

“Pranking is against the rules.”

“Particularly pranks involving potions.”

“Which are dangerous when brewed incorrectly.”

“In fact, the only person known to foolishly attempt to brew potions above his skill level is Rowle himself, so his embarrassment was obviously self-inflicted.”

“Potions?” asked Lee.

Fred and George looked at each other.

“Or I suppose he could have just been drunk,” said Fred. 

“Really brought out his natural inclinations,” said George. It was a tricky tightrope to walk, to try to get the credit without the blame.

The Great Hall had gradually been filling with students and professors. Madam Pomfrey wasn’t there, nor Snape, nor Rowle of course.

Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling like frickin disco balls, stood to address the students. “I thank you all for your assistance in searching for Mr. Rowle. Twenty points to Ravenclaw for the group of students who had the intelligence to search for him in the owlery. I assure you all that Mr. Rowle is safe in the hospital wing, and not receiving visitors until further notice. Please go about your day as usual.”

Lunch didn’t give the students adequate time to celebrate Rowle’s humiliation, so the Gryffindors relocated their gloating to their Common Room, where Lee stood and wobbled on a chair. “Look at my cute little beak!”

The merriment in the Gryffindor Common Room was so loud, they almost didn’t hear the knocking on the door. Fred and George looked at each other, then climbed through the portrait hole into the hallway, which was quieter. 

“We need to talk,” said Tonks.

“You may come in and join the party, if you like,” said Fred.

“You could be an honorary Gryffindor for the day.”

“We won’t reveal why of course.”

Tonks shook her head. “We need to talk in private. I can’t find Charlie! We had a date this afternoon, but he didn’t show. So either he’s in some sort of trouble or he’s avoiding me. Oh Merlin, he’s avoiding me, isn’t he? He didn’t like me taking risks like that. This is it, he’s breaking up with me, all because I—“

“You seem to be laboring under the misconception that we care,” said Fred.

“We’re busy celebrating Rowle’s humiliation.”

“Well done, by the way.”

“But if you really want to know where Charlie is, we’ll find out for you.”

“Wait here.” They went back in, through the Common Room, up the stairs, to their empty dorm room. They climbed into their adjacent beds and pulled the red curtains around them, just to be safe. Only then did Fred take the map out of his pocket, tap it with his wand, and say, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” Beautiful handwriting bloomed across the parchment, showing the map of Hogwarts and lots of moving names.

“Now where’s Charlie Weasley?” asked George.

They looked. It took a while. The castle was huge and crowded. Finally, they saw it. The Marauders had helpfully written his name in Gryffindor red.

Snape’s office. With Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore.

“Mischief managed.” They folded the map back up and Fred put it in his pocket. They wove their way through the crowded Common Room to the portrait hole, climbed out, and reported, “Snape’s office,” to Tonks, whose face was turning pink even as her hair was turning mousy brown.

“What?!”

“With Snape and Dumbledore. Sure you don’t want to come inside? Lee’s doing a hilarious impression of Rowle in the tree.”

“How do you know where Charlie is?” asked Tonks.

“We know everything,” said Fred casually.

“Boys, your brother is in trouble! They must have figured out he had something to do with the prank.” 

“Probably.”

“So we have to get him out of trouble!”

Fred said “How?” at the same time George said “Why?”

“I don’t know how!” she said. “But he’s your brother! Haven’t you got any loyalty?”

“You’re thinking of Hufflepuffs,” said George.

“Listen, Tonks,” said Fred. “We’ve had plenty of detentions already and survived them all. Charlie can take a turn this time.”

“If you have some idea to get our brother out of trouble, good luck with that, but we’re not going to help.”

“Unless it’s fun of course.”

“Now excuse us.”

“We have a Slytherin to mock.”

They gave the Fat Lady the password, “Molt,” and climbed back in through the portrait hole, leaving Tonks behind as her hair started to blaze fiery red.

——-

Charlie was seated at his usual place at the Gryffindor table at dinner time, although he didn’t seem to be eating anything. His skin was pale between his freckles.

Fred slapped him on the back. “Charlie, dear brother good man old chap, how are you enjoying your last moments as a private citizen before your brilliance is revealed to the world?”

“What?” Charlie croaked.

“They’re going to announce that they caught the culprit, aren’t they?”

“What are you sulking for? You’ll be the talk of the town. You’ll be famous as the most amusing prankster at Hogwarts.”

“We wouldn’t allow anyone else to take credit for one of our pranks, but as you’re still adding glory to the Weasley name, we’re willing to share the fame this time.”

“I don’t want to be famous,” said Charlie. “Mum’s going to be so mad.”

“Does she have any other emotional states?” asked Fred.

“I didn’t know what to do,” said Charlie. “I told Snape someone stole that bottle of elf-made wine, and I didn’t know what potion he was talking about, but—“

“Fame is wasted on you,” pronounced George. They left this wet blanket behind and continued to their usual places at the table. “Get ready for an exciting announcement,” they told their dining companions.

Dumbledore stood. “Attention students. Professor Snape has an announcement.” 

Fred and George saw Charlie bury his face in his hands.

Snape stood. There was no sign that he’d washed his hair. “Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. This afternoon, I conducted a thorough investigation of today’s attack on one of my students.” There were some exclamations about this. “Yes, this was an attack,” he said. “You can be certain that Mr. Rowle was not in his right mind this afternoon, but had been given a powerful, mind-altering potion. I have searched my stores of potion ingredients, and found that some are missing: the ingredients required to make a mind-altering potion. I’m not sure which particular potion it was, as the book I wished to consult has been stolen from the Restricted Section of the library.” 

All eyes turned to Madam Pince, sitting primly at the Head Table. “If Professor Snape thinks he has this all figured out, he needn’t consult me,” she said. “Oh yes, there’s no need at all to ask the librarian if a book was properly checked out. Just assume it was stolen, why don’t you. Go on, assume that anyone at all can just wander into the Restricted Section without me even knowing about it.”

Everyone who had turned to Madam Pince remembered why they generally granted her as little attention as possible, and turned back to Snape when he said, “Be that as it may, obviously someone obtained the book from the Restricted Section, stole the ingredients, and used them to brew a mind-altering potion. I have one suspect for the thief of the ingredients. After I recently increased the security on my stores, only one student had access to the ingredients used to make this potion. Interestingly, Mr. Rowle later obtained a bottle of wine from this same student.” His black eyes turned to the Gryffindor table. Charlie quaked. What an idiot, looking blatantly guilty like that.

There was a sudden commotion at the Hufflepuff table as Tonks sprang to her feet. “It was me! I stole the ingredients, brewed the Manic Derangement Emulsion, and gave it to Rowle! The rotten blood-purist deserved it. I’ll take the punishment.”

Fred stood up. “That’s it!” he shouted. “I’m tired of other people stealing the credit for our pranks!”

George stood an instant later. “This was our prank! We, the Weasley twins, were the masterminds. We deserve all the credit and all the punishment!”

Then some random boy stood up from the Hufflepuff table. “No, it was me!” he cried merrily. “Rowle’s been giving purebloods a bad name. Something had to be done.” Who did he think he was fooling? He couldn’t have been older than a first-year.

“No, it was me!” This cry was from a grinning girl at the Ravenclaw table. “It seemed like a very interesting potion, and I like a challenge. I just had to try it on someone to see if it worked.”

Soon practically everyone was claiming credit for their prank. The twins tried to shout their confession over the cacophony, but it was hopeless.

Professor McGonagall’s lips were pressed into such a thin line, they seemed to have completely disappeared. 

“Silence!” boomed the magically amplified voice of Professor Dumbledore. He twinkled proudly at the suddenly silent crowd. “As it seems we have no way of telling who the real culprit is, I’m afraid we can’t assign a punishment.”

“But Headmaster—“ objected Snape.

“And no lasting harm was done,” Dumbledore continued mildly. “This was just a harmless prank. And a well-timed one, too, that didn’t even interfere with classes.”

“Headmaster,” said Snape, and although his voice was quiet, everyone with any sense of self-preservation listened closely, and could hear every word. “This prank, as you call it, was a potentially lethal attack on a student of my house. Only luck spared Mr. Rowle from death by falling, or hypothermia in the lake, or any number of other painful fates. How will I explain to his parents that the culprit or culprits are still on the loose, and haven’t even been—“

“You need to develop a sense of humor, Severus,” twinkled Dumbledore, slapping Snape on the back. “You’d enjoy life a lot more.”

“Headmaster, I fail to see the humor in a murder attempt on a child. If this attack had been directed at a Gryffindor rather than—“ 

“Oh all right,” said Dumbledore indulgently. “Would a punishment make you happier? Listen, students! Next Hogsmeade weekend is canceled! There, Severus. Whoever the prankster is, he’s been punished, so justice is served.”

There were groans at this, but Fred and George grinned at each other. As first-years, they weren’t allowed on Hogsmeade weekends anyway.

Madam Pince stood up and banged her spoon against her goblet to try to get everyone’s attention. “I hope this punishment will not be extended to Mr. Rowle,” she said.

Snape looked at her askance. “The victim of the prank will not be punished,” he said. “In a departure from Hogwarts tradition,” he added in a mutter.

“Good,” said Madam Pince. “Such a nice boy, who checks books out properly, with a proper pass to the Restricted Section and everything.”

Snape’s black eyes drilled into her. “What?”

“Mr. Rowle checked out _Magipsychedelia_ himself,” she said. “I would have told you that earlier, if you hadn’t cast aspersions on my security system. And we already know he has an interest in brewing potions that aren’t in the standard curriculum.” She sat down and let her audience work it out for themselves.

Many people looked towards the Slytherin table, as if Rowle were willing to show his face there.

Dumbledore waited patiently for the laughter to subside. This took a while. Eventually, he stood. “Attention again!” he twinkled. “In light of new information, I now realize that I spoke too soon. Hogsmeade weekend will occur as previously scheduled. Thank you.” He sat down again.

The twins saw Snape turn to Dumbledore to tell him something, but couldn’t hear him over the cheering. Dumbledore responded by filling both their goblets with wine and raising his to Snape in an invitation to clink them together. Snape declined.

Good idea. Fred and George raised their cups of pumpkin juice and clinked them together. Then they looked to the Hufflepuff table to catch Tonks’s eye. She was talking with that presumptuous first-year Hufflepuff boy, but they caught her attention eventually. She raised her cup to them, gave them a nod and smile, and drank, spilling some pumpkin juice down the front of her robes. It must be awkward to go from Rowle’s massive arms to her usual slender ones.

Tonks then raised her cup to Charlie, but he had buried his face in his hands, and was paying no attention to anyone.


End file.
